


Rook Island Sunset

by Keil



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Alcohol, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keil/pseuds/Keil
Summary: A batch of girls is brought to his island in the dead of night. Three of them he can sell no problem, but the fourth? The fourth needs work. Turning her into an ideal slave? It would be Vaas's pleasure. Drugged, tortured, and starved, Alexander just wants to get out alive.





	1. Boss

**Author's Note:**

> "Leave your Sanity at the Door" on fanfiction (.) net was my editor and Spanish translator for Chapters 1-3. If you frequent FF, I recommend you check out her Vaas fic as well.

Booming, crackling fire, splitting logs, gunshots, shouting…the cacophony awoke the girl and her senses were immediately overwhelmed. Her head smarted as though it had been hit. Hazy, dark shadows ran across her partially-obscured vision; something was preventing her from seeing properly and it was as though she were looking through a black filter. She struggled to sit up against what felt like a fence. The reek of booze, rotten fruit, fish, and sweat overcame her all at once, as though a candle had been lit. Fear hung limp and moist in the air, prickling her skin. Five or six shadows - men - stood before the fire speaking, shouting, and arguing, but still she could not make out distinct shapes - only figures. One man muttered, another spoke in a low tone, and then one, the leader, shouted once more.

"What. The. Fuck. Dog.” _Or had he said ‘Doug’?_ “Honestly! What in your tiny fucking mind told you to grab product I can't sell? I ask you again, Hermano, I mean it: explain it to me."

There were more words exchanged in a hushed tone, embarrassment. A gunshot went off into the sky and she flinched at the sound. Fabric rustled; she realized she couldn't see because she was blindfolded, the fabric partially see-through. But was she alone? No…she felt her friends around her, felt them whimpering. They were two of the most physically beautiful people she knew, but they were ugly when they cried, and she knew the sound of their distress. There was also another girl, one she couldn’t identify, leaning on her shoulder, still passed out. Though she couldn’t see her, she remembered her scent in the back of her memory, floral and pungent, but otherwise entirely unfamiliar.

"Amigo, I couldn't give two fucks what the other two said - it's plain wasteful. I like my shit to run smooth, ves? I hate when you bring me something that’s complicado. I can’t kill her or give her to the boys, because, well, look at her. She’s not an ugly bitch, is she? She’s got an interesting look. Can’t just pass up that money. But how do we sell her? It’s like a damaged fucking smart phone. Can’t throw it away because it might be worth something. Goddamn it, Doug.” Definitely Doug.

"Baahs," one said louder, and then continued in lower tones once more. Or had he said ‘Was’? Were they speaking German or Spanish? Everything was still hazy. Why would they be speaking German? Their accents were Spanish…

"That's an interesting fucking proposition. Yeah, let me call Hoyt."

He, Vas or Boss, was still shouting. The girl tried to speak, but came to realize she was gagged as well as blindfolded. She shifted her wrists. Ah, they were bound. Her mind was still working to figure out what had happened, but she felt worse than hungover and any coherent thought was difficult to pull forth. Ema shuddered against the night air, near enough to feel the pressure change with her motion.

"Hoyt, I can't sell her. She's worthless as is." A pause. "Sí, we _used_ to have that buyer but he has gone, pouf, disappeared." A longer pause. "Doug here says we can keep her until she's sellable, starve her and wait." A short pause. "Oh Hoyt, I think I love you."

Out of nowhere, hands were pulling her to her feet, her blindfold ripped off. A tan man, dark-eyed, and scarred all over, leaned into her face, eyebrow cocked, and stood powerfully before her. It would have made for an interesting character study. He reached out and pulled down her gag.

“What the fuck…” she mumbled, still a bit disoriented. Though his eyes were dark, their color was a brilliant green; a beautiful shade of emerald, gorgeous gemstone brilliance and all. She flinched at her own wild imagination. A pirate with pretty eyes was still a pirate, for fuck’s sake. His shirt was stained crimson and she had to wonder if it had originally been that color. Then there was the Mohawk…it would have made him less threatening, more approachable because of her exposure to ‘artistic types’, except for the huge scar that paralleled it down to his eyebrow. His hands were working on something, twisting a rag. It seemed like he was cleaning something, and so she squinted in the darkness. It was a gun; charcoal, shiny and now cocked.

"Oh, chica, I don't like you already. It isn't your fucking fault, I know. Thank Doug for that." He cocked his head toward a shadowy man and waited for her to respond. 

"You're...Vas?” She tried not to make it sound like a question. He didn’t stop her. “Where are we? Why are we here?" Her voice was soft, shy, but not afraid like she should have been. Yet she was leaning awkwardly, as though socially conscious of the fact that all eyes were on her, aware that she was supposed to be afraid and struggling to reconcile how to act. She was not used to people more volatile than she. While she _had_ enjoyed a relatively cushy lifestyle up to this point, it wasn’t as though she was unaware of evil in the world; she’d just never experienced it before. Fear, it seemed, was something she had avoided most of her life.

"Oh," he stopped and raised his eyebrows at his comrades. "She knows my name. You know my name." He was gesticulating with his gun. "Maybe I do like you a little, hermana, but you ask too many questions. You see," he said, clasping his hands around his gun, "you see I have a little operation going on here and we sell a product, tourist scum,” he pointed the gun at her, then up into the air, “to buyers with lots of cash. You, niña, are not a high-end commodity. You are not our metaphorical cup of tea."

The string of intelligent words against his rough appearance was making her dizzy. He didn’t look the type to have stayed in any school for very long, though his vocabulary spoke to the fact that he was well educated by some non-conventional means. Movies, maybe. Perhaps even books. She looked down at her two friends; bikini clad, shaking, and not one bit concerned about her, she was sure. At the moment, she was still inexplicably less frightened and a little woozy.

"You mean because I don't look like them," she tilted her head at her friends. The two girls, Ema and Anni, were a size 4 and size 6 respectfully. She was roughly twice as big. While not obese by any means, she could see where he was coming from.

"Yes, yes, estás un poco gorda, a little plump. What is your name, chica?"

"It’s…hm…how do you say it…Fuck Off.” She made as though to spit, but he grabbed her chin. Her bold move was dampened by her anxiety at making eye contact those shining, emerald orbs.

“No really, chica, your name. I’ll ask you just this last time.” He steadied his gun and placed it in the center of her forehead. ”I don’t like playing other people’s games.”

“Alexander Marque.”

“Wow, I mean wow. Are you still playing me, _Alexander?”_

“You have my passport, you can check, señor bossman. I was named after a great relative of mine, and there will be people looking for me-" Her voice was still quiet, but now trembling.

"SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP. I ask you one fucking question and you give me a life story. Jesus." He turned and laughed at the guard next to her. "Fucking Americans, am I right?" He withdrew his gun and began flipping through her passport, already in his other hand.

“Oh, you’ve been to Japan and China? I bet it’s nice there. Lots of shiny toys.”

“I can think of a couple of toys I’d like to shove up your-“ she mumbled, but was cut off, luckily, by an approaching underling.

"Oye, Vaas!"

"Qué?"

A pirate began whispering in his ear in rapid Spanish while Vaas finished flipping through her little booklet. He went from irritated, to wide eyed and excited. It seemed to be a trait of his.

"Fotos? Hoyt quiere fotos?"

"Sí, Vaas."

"Entonces agarra la puta cámara y trae a la chica. Tengo trabajo que hacer."

Hoyt, a name she’d heard before, and photos. They had…work to do. Her basic Spanish was enough to dampen her mood a notch. Unceremoniously, they dragged Alexander to a little shed. Her stomach dropped as she realized she was not working with someone completely sane and her back-sass started to look pretty stupid. It had taken her a little while to figure it out, it was true. The shed looked like something out of a horror film. The windows were blocked off. Inside, it was crudely lit and the floor caked, smeared and splattered with copious amounts of dried blood, like a Jackson Pollock gone awry. There was no question about it; she was going to be tortured, and soon by the looks of it.

"Sir," she ventured, voice soft, but was cut down immediately. She flinched at his shouting, eyes directed between her feet.

"You hear her? _Sir_ ,” he squeaked in a girl voice, mocking her. “Chica, chica look. We are not are not going to a fucking prom here. I do not want to hear _you_ calling _me_ Sir. I am your boss, you must call me boss. I _own_ you now. You do what I say when I say it. This bullshit with _sir_ won’t do."

"B-boss, I…can I do anything to…to, uh, avoid…pain..." Her voice cracked on the final word.

He leaned in close as she spoke, as though very interested in what she was saying, and then snapped his teeth at her. His voice rang out, oddly strained, in a barking laugh.

"Avoid pain? Hermana, you cannot avoid pain. You see?” He looked to the same underling beside her. “These fucking Americans are fucking crazy. You be a good girl and I'll treat you well, but even a good bitch needs to be reminded of her place every once-in-a-while. If I don’t remind you, someone else will. Just behave and I won’t leave any scars, okay? String her up, boys!"

The two guards flanking her hoisted her up and latched her cuffs to the wall. Her feet reached the ground if she strained her arms a bit, but she did have to stretch. It was not unbearable. And it was a mercy she wasn’t at the center of the bloodied floor.

"Dame la puta cámara! Dámela ya!”

Vaas slapped one guard on the back and told them to get out. Slamming the door behind them, Vaas caused the whole shed to wobble. The lone light flickered in the dusty gloom and casted shadows as plentiful as the sins that had occurred there; her mind flashed stupidly to a Caravaggio painting of a man being beheaded. All the art history in the world wasn’t going to help her here. She shifted to a more comfortable position as Vaas fiddled with the camera. It went off once and he chuckled to himself. 

"Bueno! Ok, let's get you ready, chica." He put the machine down on the table and pulled out a knife. Alexander closed her eyes and whimpered quietly, thinking it better than pushing him into a fit of hysteria with more begging. She felt him grow closer to her, felt his heat radiating against her skin, his alcoholic musk drowning her, his heartbeat wild. He breathed in her hair and pushed it back behind her ear. 

"I love that. What is that? Fucking almonds or some shit? Delicious."

Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped at his proximity. He was propping himself up against the wall with one hand, the one clutching the knife, and weaving his other hand into her hair, pulling her toward him. His face was nearly touching hers, his lips hovering before her mouth. He seemed sorely tempted to bite her with his bared teeth.

"Shhh, baby, I just need some pictures for Hoyt. Fucking business, you know?"

He held her face in his palm before his knife came up and cut her shirt right up the side. It slipped off in tatters, revealing her bra and pants. He slid her pants off and stood back like a painter examining his finished work, pushing her clothes to the side under the table with his foot. He grabbed the camera and began snapping off pictures, shifting her around and taking more.

"You _are_ a little fat, huh? That's America's fault. I am going to make you be-yu-ti-full. Can you please give me a profile of your fucking face?! Fuck. Now show your ass a little bit. Stick it out like – yeah! Like that. Ah fuck, that's enough for Hoyt. He thinks he can find a buyer for you faster than I can starve you. Ha! Funny bastard, no?"

She feigned a small laugh and he paused to debate if it was good enough. He looked her in the eye and she immediately submitted by looking at the ground. Her cheeks were flushed at the eye contact and he wondered if it was because she was scared or just that socially fucked. Eventually, he decided to take care of Hoyt's demands rather than play with her. Usually the slaves just mouthed off or cried. He liked that she was trying to play along, trying to stay pain-free. But he would have to teach her how to laugh properly, how to be an obedient pet. He needed to craft a perfect slave, a loyal slave.

He went to find a runner for the pictures. What the fuck did Hoyt think he knew that he didn’t? They had occasionally had buyers with a fetish, but not for a long while; the dumb motherfucker was still going to put her up for sale in her current state. The man truly had no business sense. Slipping the photos into an envelope and handing them to a currier, Vaas picked up his walkie and buzzed Hoyt.

“Hello, hello, hello? Wakie wakie, Sleeping Beauty.”

Flat static and then, “Yes, Vaas, what do you want?”

Vaas tried to control the anger bubbling up behind his words and said, sweetly, “I have sent those pictures for you, Hoyt, every angle, every inch. But you won’t sell her, amigo.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hoyt drawled, sounding like he wanted to say more, but changing his mind. He always sounded so fucking disappointed in him. Vaas clenched his teeth.

“That everything, Hoyt?”

The other men in the room were packing up their things and leaving for fear of a crotch shot…or worse. Vaas muted himself for a moment and slammed his hand down on the table as Hoyt hummed to himself, then released the mute button.

“Actually, it’s not. I want to make it very clear, Vaas, _very clear_ that you are not to hurt that one in any lasting way. **That means no scars, no broken bones, and no fucking her like you’re a porn star.”**

“Absolutely, yeah, yeah, understood…and what if she escapes?”

“Catch her, and then kill one of her friends as punishment. They’re just pretty white girls. She’s half-half, right?”

“Yeah, half something. Looks a bit Asian to me,” Vaas chirruped.

“Great, Caucasian/Asian sells real well. I know there’re a couple of big buyers on the market for someone like her. They’d snap her up, just like that, if we can shave off a stone or two. I’ve got things to do, Vaas; is that everything on your end?”

“Mmhm,” Vaas knew he would just get scolded if he yelled back at Hoyt, but he was still right on the edge. The way he fucking talked down to him, like he was a goddamn, petulant _child_ …

“We’ll talk later, then,” Hoyt said, radio going silent.

“Hijo de puta!” Vaas shouted, throwing the walkie against the wall where it broke into several large pieces. He wanted to kill something, to feel blood on his hands. A hesitant pirate opened the door.

“Jefe, encontramos un barco grande. Montones de gente. Montonesde botín,” (Boss, we found a big ship, lots of people, lots of loot) he said, rather apprehensive.

 “Genial. A eso se le llama suerte!”  (Good. Now that's what you call lucky!) Vaas replied, cracking his neck and pushing past the man. “Junta a toda la gente! Les vamos a dar la bienvenida a mi isla!” (Round everyone up! We’re going welcome them to my island!) he cried out, twirling his gun in the air. It would be so satisfying to watch them cower as he slaughtered them, one by one.


	2. Survival

After Vaas left the room, Alexander took her time looking around. Nearby, there was a table covered in all manner of tools including, but not limited to, a car battery, a hammer, several rusty nails, glass jars, and various cutting utensils. Further…there seemed to be a small collection of teeth in a box. She shifted her uneasy gaze from the malicious desk. There was a single chair standing starkly at the center of the hut and a single bulb hanging low above it, casting stage lighting across the room. There were, however,  _two_  doors: the one she had come through and one that she had not seen open. Shouting outside, like something interesting had happened, but Vaas still did not return.

Still, the memory of what had happened was foggy. Eventually, she began to doze in fitful sleep. And it slowly came to her, dreamlike. She'd put in her time-off at the museum and at the school, tied up some loose ends with some art exhibitions, and they'd set off on a wild vacation. Her two friends, some random from the club, and she had been picked up by a DJ...but his name was out of reach. Blake? Don? Alexander had been drunk by then, and couldn't quite recall how he'd convinced them. Sure, he'd talked up an island where 'everything was legal' and he promised them cocaine…but she much preferred opium if they were going down that road. Her dreams swam. Had they been in the air? Men in red...pirates? There had been a boat…had pirates kidnapped them?

It must have been several hours before he was back, and she was beginning to feel her restraints in her shoulders. Her mouth was cottony, her lips chapped, and she was beginning to get hungry, but she knew water was the best she could hope for. If he wanted to keep her alive, he'd  _have_ to give her water at some point. Sometime after she'd drifted into another fitful nap, the door slammed open and Vaas stood, swigging back some vile smelling alcohol, triumphant and drunk. There was a nice, new streak of blood across his pants, and a bulge that she'd rather not have seen; though, she noted despite her best efforts, it was quite sizable.

"Hello, chica."

"H-hello, Vaas."

Rage spilled across his features.

"WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU TO CALL ME? ARE WE FUCKING AMIGOS? DID I SAY YOU COULD CALL ME BY MY NAME?" He came up and hit her across the face with the bottle. Her lip split open and she began to bruise immediately where he had struck her, though it hadn't been hard enough to shatter the glass. Her gaze flicked up to meet his for just a moment, shocked and fully mortified as involuntary tears of pain began falling from her eyes.

"H-hello, boss," she hissed through clenched teeth.

She was scared now – pain could do that – and yet she was still piqued, piqued that she was crying and she couldn't control it, piqued that he'd had the nerve to hit her after making her wait so long. She had to stop crying; she wasn't weak. And she had to get back on his good side, too; there wasn't much she could do if he didn't trust her.

"And stop stuttering! It's annoying. It's fucking…it's so fucking pathetic." His words were slurring and she was nervous that his mood might suffer even more from intoxication. He was tapping the gun against his brow, shaking his head back and forth as though to understand why she couldn't live up to his unspoken expectations. She looked at his shirt, in a vain attempt not to betray the extent of her fear. His shirt was the midpoint between avoiding him and direct, confrontational eye contact – a good position to be in so as to avoid fighting him for dominance. Since he was already very close to her, he didn't have to reach far to pull her up and off of the ground by her neck. He did this easily, without strain, wrapping his bloodied fingers right under her jaw, and lifting her whole body off of the ground. While she wasn't fat, she  _was_  chubby, and it was impressive that he was able to manage it with only one arm. Only part of her mind was focused on this, however, as she was beginning to lose oxygen.

"I am going to make you my bitch. You will be my  _dog_ : you will whine on my command; you will sit on my command; and you will shit on my command. Then, when you no longer please me, I will sell you to your new owner. Do you understand me?" He exhaled toxic breath into her lungs, his words so strong that she felt them reverberating throughout her entire body.

"Yes, boss," she choked out, gasping for air.

For a moment, she thought she was in the clear as he released her throat, allowing her a moment to sputter and gasp…but even having said what he wanted to hear, he pulled out his favorite handgun and rubbed the pistol on her face. Rum swam on his skin as he threw the rest of the bottle across the room in a gut-wrenching shattering of glass. He forced the muzzle into her mouth, despite her pleas and her panting, and pressed the cold, violent metal against the back of her throat. With tears and now a little saliva trailing down her face, he cocked the weapon. The click was satisfying, electrifying, but also agonizing; something primal in her both craved and abhorred the sound.

"Alexander, I don't want to kill you, but you make it so fucking hard. I hate everything about you. You're fat. You are pathetic. You have the most annoying whine when you want to live. Why shouldn't I just shoot your brains out right now? It would certainly improve the state of this ugly fucking wall…"

Thinking fast, she threw the only punch she had, hoping against all hope that there was a real hierarchical system in place, and managed just one word around the live gun:

"Hoyt."

He stood for a moment and then grabbed her neck again, watching her eyes grow wide with disbelief as she struggled to reach the floor, her quickened breath resuming. Holding the gun steady in her mouth, he smiled; his finger caressed the trigger sensually, teasing the idea…but something stopped him from going all the way. He dropped her once more.

"FUCK. FUCK! As much as I hate the prick, you're right. I'd better not!" He growled, slinging his handgun onto the ground, causing it to fire off. It didn't hit either of them, but created a tiny pinprick of light in the wall through which a beam of light pierced the murk. It was daytime; at least half a day had passed since she'd been brought to the tiny room. He left through the primary door and did not return, leaving her sputtering and gulping great mouthfuls of air.

* * *

Why did she make him so goddamn  _angry_? What about her drove him into such a rage?

" _And now_ ," he thought, " _I don't even have rum to dull it_."

Vaas ran a hand through his Mohawk, stumbling into the tech room with the lanky Hispanic boy in charge of running most of their more advanced operations. His main responsibilities included security repair work, keeping their internet running, ensuring the outposts could contact each other, and monitoring their online accounts. He was typing rapidly, hardly paying attention to Vaas as he kicked over a stack of boxes and sat down in a metal chair. Vaas leaned his head back and stared at the hodge-podge of wires crisscrossing the ceiling, weaving between the florescent lights. The desk fan  _whup-whup'_ ed evenly, pulling him down into a trance until the boy stopped typing and coughed irritably.

"Vaas, what're you doing here?"

"Nestor, don't use that tone of voice with me. I will put you on the Green Mile, you just watch me. I will be your Percy Wetmore."

The boy sighed and tried again, "Vaas, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had any new movies. Something to take my mind off of work."

"I might have a few," Nes clicked a couple of times, opening folders, Vaas assumed. "I have a horror, Frozen, about some skiers. Oh, a comedy, Get Him to the Greek, with Russell Brand. Kick Ass?"

"I've seen that one, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, I love that guy. Found it on a tourist a few months ago," he mumbled, head still tiled back toward the ceiling. "Next."

"Okaaay, there's also Iron Man 2 or this cerebral-type one called Shutter Island."

"Who's in that last one?"

"Mmm…Leonardo DiCaprio."

"I'll do that. What the fuck, give me the new Iron Man too."

"Sure thing, Vaas."

"Nes, I never understood, hermano, why you don't speak Spanish.  _How_ you don't speak Spanish, you know?"

The kid shrugged, opening his DVD rom and popping a blank disk in. Vaas motioned with his hand for the kid to answer and the boy sighed again. A few moments passed before he could find an answer for his drunken superior.

"My parents never spoke it around me. They thought it would confuse my siblings and me. No one here taught me. There's no point; everyone speaks English anyway. What's gotten you so philosophical all of a sudden?"

The image of the girl flashed through Vaas's mind and he ran his hands over his face.

"Never mind, amigo. Work on my movies."

They sat in silence for a while as the computer whirred, writing stories on the disks. The fan  _whup-whup'ed_ as the two stewed in their own problems, the kid shuffling through some papers as he sat. Vaas lit up a cigarette and smoked for a while, creating a nice haze over the incandescent lights. Then, Nes was sharpieing the titles onto the DVDs and slipping them into sleeves as the pirate king stood. He stumbled over to Nes and looked him in the eye, trying to get a read on the boy, the nicotine on his breath mixing with the alcohol in his sweat. Nes kept lazy eye contact, holding the movies out for Vaas to take.

"You're so lucky we found a good use for you or you'd still be getting fucked in the ass down in the mud."

"That's true," Nes began slowly, "but you'd still be using VCRs and have no internet, so you're welcome."

Vaas grinned and took the movies, ruffling the boy's mop drunkenly. Miffed, Nes ran a hand through his hair. He then went back to his work, typing resuming its even pace. The pirate king meandered out, waving over his shoulder without turning around and without saying a word.

* * *

Alexander swam through another entire day without water or food, drifting in and out of a fitted slumber, the creeping dread growing by the hour that Vaas might just be insane enough to let her expire for no reason at all, even against this Hoyt fellow's wishes. Sleep was her only solace, but she could only doze until her shoulders ached and then had to hold herself up for a while until the misery subsided enough to be able to nap once more.

It was morning, a whole 36 hours or more had passed since she'd last had anything to eat or drink, when an icy bucket of water came down upon her, soaking her body and bringing up goose bumps. Her eyes springing open, she instinctually began licking the water off of her face and shoulders, but only managed to fuel her thirst further. Her unstable captor stood before her, holding the bucket, a smirk tugging on his lips. Something ravenous lurked behind his eyes, like a tiger in the jungle. Her eyes flicked to the bucket; there was still some water in the container and she fought through the fear that he would shoot her in the head just for speaking.

"Boss, may I…drink the rest of the water?"

"You have to earn it first, chica."

He put the bucket down on the table, bumping a knife and a pair of pliers onto the ground. Before she knew what was happening, he'd uncuffed her and she fell onto the floor, scraping her knees and forearms on the uneven boards, her heart beating faster than she felt was strictly safe. He was on top of her now, sitting on her back, and her body fell all the way to the floor as his hands closed around her neck. Alexander groped lightly at her throat, feeling like he was choking her, or about to, but his hands pulled away and she realized he'd clipped a collar on her; she really was his dog now. In his right hand he held the chain leash and in the other a button or some sort of walkie. He took a few steps back from her.

"Now, we have a little fun. Walk, chica." He pulled on her leash, forcing her to drag her knees across the ground. Confused, she made to stand up, but he pressed the button in his hand and electricity sparked through her body. "No, walk like the bitch you are."

She dragged her knees all the way to his heels and stopped. When he was satisfied she had grasped the exercise, he then led her outside and took her on an excruciating tour of the camp. Blood trailed behind her; they were met by whoops and hollers as she dragged herself, clad in her underwear, along the dirt and gravel. Vaas eventually let her stand up because she was going too slowly for his tastes; he seemed to be excited for something.

The sun was just beginning to warm up, beaming down heat in great waves upon the island's inhabitants, willing and otherwise. He brought her to a dock where a man and craft sat idle. The large, dark man looked up from his magazine as they approached, fanning himself with it.

"We are going on a trip, niña, a fun trip out to a little lagoon."

While it was clear he was telling the truth, at least on the surface, Alex hardly expected it was going to be a 'fun trip'. They got on the rickety little motor boat and the dark pirate with a bleached afro fired her up. Their group putted along the scenic coastline, sunlight glittering on the water's surface, waves crashing onto what seemed the most pristine beaches in the world.

"Alexander, tell me; were your friends from the other night really your friends?"

Her eyes flicked to him, though he was not looking at her.

"I came on vacation with them, boss. Have they been asking about me?" He said nothing and shrugged without looking to her. "They don't treat me well, in either case. I guess they could call themselves my friends."

"What did they do to you?"

Alexander paused to consider. For years they had acted like she was the charity case, like she was the one who needed them. Then what? They'd gone behind her back and fucked any boy she'd ever liked, and on multiple occasions they had gotten so black-out drunk and embarrassed her in front of clients at work functions. They had made her cry for no reason. Could she even recall all they had done to her?

"Boss, the list is too long."

Had it been enough for Vaas? Apparently so, because he nodded and did not push further, instead motioning as they pulled into, as Vaas himself had hinted, a little lagoon, right along the coast. Squinting into the glistening cerulean water, the girl thought she saw something: a fish? The shape, lifting toward the surface, began to grow in size. It was not by any means large enough to tip the boat, but the shark seemed very interested in the tin can's contents nonetheless; several others were already swimming lazily behind them, waiting for their eager brother to strike. Alex pulled her hands away from the lip of the craft. Floating at the center of the lagoon, several meters from land in any direction, was a man-made island of sorts. It had certainly been a ship at some point, but had since been repurposed into something resembling a prison. They docked and disembarked.

"This," he just about howled, "is my pride and joy! Here we keep all of the lovely slaves that will assuredly sell: the pretty ones, the white girls and boys, the virgins, and the children. They all go very fast. We keep them here so that they don't want to escape. The sharks will get them if they try!"

He led her along the rows of cages as he spoke, exposed in the now fully blaring heat. Each enclosure housed a genre, mostly organized by the categories he had been listing: the white women were in one; young, white men in another; young girls past puberty in a third. Alexander did not look at the children as they passed, only heard them sniffling and hiccupping between tears. They finally stopped at a cage filled with pretty female slaves. Alex noted that all of them, along with every single other slave on the ship, were bound with ropes and not metal cuffs like she had been. They stopped in front of a cage where Ema and Anni were huddling among a group of similar looking girls.

"This boat, my pet, is where we keep the general population, Sí? They don't get nice things like a roof…or my company. At least, not for more than a night." He turned toward the group and let his eyes glide over them. The significance of his words was not lost on Alexander and she had to fight the urge to ask her friend if they were ok. One of them, Ema, reached out to her and began to cry.

"L-lex! Help us!"

Alexander's eyes flicked to Vaas and she realized he was smiling. He spoke rapid Spanish to another pirate and they brought Ema out, wailing and scrunching her face inhumanely. He crouched down next to her as she began to fully bawl. Alex removed her eyes from the display.

"Chica, why are you crying?" Vaas asked, still smiling. He stood back up and looked at Alex. "What is this? Silence of the Lambs? I'm not going to skin them. Jesus." He looked back to the blonde woman at his feet. " _Chica,_ why are you crying?"

Ema could not manage a coherent word through her blubbering. Tutting, Vaas sent for a whip and instructed a guard to tie her hands to the bars He looked to Alexander and saw she was not looking, so he tilted her chin with one bandaged finger and pointed, forcing her to watch. When he was sure she would not look back down at her feet, he took the whip from his henchman.

Anni was at the bars, crying by now as well, and holding Ema's fingers through the enclosure, whispering pointless but encouraging lies to her.

"Shh, darling, don't cry. Try t-talking to him. You'll be ok. He won't hurt you. We'll make it out together. If Alexander is fine, we'll be fine too. If they haven't gotten rid of Lex yet, we have nothing to worry about; nothing bad will happen to us." The string of words coming out of Anni's mouth was endless.

"Alexander, I want you to watch as I demonstrate how to punish a slave," Vaas said, readying the whip.

He gave her five lashes for not responding to him and five for crying uncontrollably. Bleeding and whimpering like some dying animal, they threw Ema back into the cage. Anni wrapped her arms around her and looked savagely up at Alexander.

"What the fuck did you do, Lex?" she spat, venom dripping from the words.

Alexander looked to Vaas and he nodded his approval.

"T-this wasn't my fault. I didn't want to come to the island.  _I_ didn't ask them to whip Ema." She looked between the two women, still clad in their bikinis and starting to burn in the sun. "This wasn't my fault," she tried again, lamely.

"You're a liar!" Ema wailed, still huddled against Anni's shoulder. "Why would they hurt us now unless you did something to piss them off?"

Anni agreed. "Just look at the bruise on your face; I don't know what you did, but you're going to pay for this, Marques."

Alexander's look of sympathy and horror fell from her face; she was cold now, unfeeling. What pity she'd had in her heart vanished. She turned and walked back toward their boat without Vaas's prompting. Watching, observing, his toothy grin spread as he corralled their driver back to the motorboat, stopping only at a cage of ethnically ambiguous women to pick one he liked.

"Abroon," he spoke to the driver of their dinghy, "I want this one at the compound within the week." He pointed to a girl, vaguely Hispanic, but possibly Caucasian. Abroon nodded and made a little note on a pad that he tucked into his shirt pocket.

The interaction already fading like a pointless nightmare, they sped back down the coastline. Beautiful as the island vista was, all the sweat she'd secreted on their little escapade had reawaken her immense thirst; she was barely able to make it back to her prison without collapsing. Exhausted, pained, she fell to the floor as she reached the table in her hut.

"Vaas…" she began, and mentally kicked herself for it.

"What was that?" He shocked her.

With tears welling in her eyes, she said nothing for fear of giving away her distress. He buzzed her once more, laughing. Each time she cried out he seemed to smirk just a little bit more.

"I asked you a  _question_ , chica. Here in my camp, slaves answer questions." He spoke as though to a child, with exaggerated diction.

"B-boss, may I drink some water?"

"Of course, mi perra. We've had an  _exciting_  day, after all."

He grabbed the bucket and placed it away from where she was kneeling, on the other side of the table. She went to move toward it and he tightened his grip on the leash, the metal chain grinding with the sudden tautness. Her eyes came up to meet his and he smiled, almost sweetly, down at her, his brow smoothening and his eyes twinkling. He tutted and wagged his finger.

"Patience, patience."

He turned around, then unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick, glancing at her over his shoulder as he did. She cringed as he began to piss into her bucket, fouling the water he was going to allow her. His chuckle was like a knife to the ribs.

"You should be thanking me, chica, for now you get to drink all these vitamins straight from the dick of God! Say 'Thank you, boss.'"

She mumbled the words reluctantly, but something in her snapped. Before she even knew she was speaking, she began to shout, words pouring from her mouth and tripping over themselves in torrents. It didn't matter what she said, her body screamed, as long as she got some sweet, sweet liquid soon.

"I haven't been a very good pet, boss, I understand that, and I respect you, I want to show you that. You are my God; you decide whether I live or die, whether I eat or starve. I understand that. I just ask for some drinking water, boss, please…just some clean drinking water…"

She flinched into his leg, expecting to be shocked for her outburst, but no shock came. She clenched her eyes shut tight, expecting some other form of pain, but all she heard and felt was him zipping up his pants. There were moments of silence distorted by terror into minutes, hours, and days. Dread ate at her insides until something struck her on the head and her eyes flew open. A canteen was within reach, and when she moved to grab it, she saw that Vaas let her. Every last drip was delicious and she wasted none of it. Even lukewarm it was the best, sweetest water she'd ever tasted. With something between disgust and amusement, her captor watched her drink, but before she was even done, he chained her down to one of the table legs and left the room through the second door – she barely noticed.

From her new position, Alexander was now able to sit and lie down on the ground. She even had access to a toilet of sorts. All taken into account, she was much happier tied under the table than up on the wall, though the collar did chafe a bit. She even had a few feet of chain, enough to go sit down in the chair out in the middle of the room if she wanted to. Borderline delirious and humming lightly to herself, she wondered when the shock of being kidnapped would wear off. Sooner or later she was bound to become a nervous wreck, wasn't she?

Her stomach growling now that her thirst had been slaked, she curled up under the table. She gathered her pants and tattered shirt and used them as cushioning. Perhaps there was a tool on the table that she could soon use to cut the chain, but she needed to know Vaas was occupied first. What sort of strength would it take to cut through this metal? Before she could finish the thought, she was fast asleep. She didn't even wake up when Vaas came back in to check on her. It was a solid six hours before she was awoken by a commotion.

A pirate, one of Vaas's men, was standing over her with his hand on her mouth. Another stood behind him, picking at his teeth with a long, thin knife. Both of their eyes were hungry, dark pools of greed. The first was beginning to drag her out of her little nest. Panic surged through her; thrashing as best she could, she knocked the battery from the table onto his head and kicked him in the shin. He swore loudly.

"You fucking bitch. You think you have power?"

His words thick with Spanish accent, and slow like molasses, he placed his other massive hand around her neck and began to apply pressure.

" _Not this again!"_ she screamed mentally, memory flashing back to Vaas. " _These fucking pirates and their fixation with asphyxia!"_

She hit him, kicked, but he did not let up. He'd pulled a gun out and flicked the safety off. Right as she was beginning to black out she heard a door slam open, shouting, and then there was a loud  _bang._ Shefelt a sharp sting across her scalp, hot liquid on her skin, and then a heavy object came down on her chest. The last thing she'd seen was the pirate's grin, yellow and misshapen.

"Did I tell you you could play with my fucking toys? Did I? I asked you to do one, one little fucking thing! Empty the bucket! You fucking cocksucker and your pussy-licking friend do not touch my property. This is  _my_  dog. Get out. Get the  _fuck out_."

Blinking away the shadows darkening her vision, she saw that Vaas had cut the man across his face. The other had already bolted. A gun fell off of her chest as she sat up to move, and a trail of blood dripped down into her eye, blurring her vision. She must've been shot, but luckily, it was just a flesh wound. Unluckily, she knew her head would bleed like a mortal wound regardless. The girl turned back to look at Vaas, applying pressure to her grazed scalp with one palm. Her twisted savior held a bloody knife loosely in his hand, little gems of red dripping off of its end. He turned sharply toward her and she automatically scooted back under the desk, but he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her out into the center of the room. The door slammed behind the second pirate as he finally escaped. Furious, Vaas pulled her to her feet and spun her around to face the table. She threw her hands out quickly to prevent her face from coming down on a dull saw. Then, he began to rip something behind her and hissed:

"Open your mouth."


	3. Nestor

In a cold sweat, she submitted, but flicked a glance over her shoulder as he wrapped a strip of red, filthy fabric in her mouth and around her head as a new gag. She didn't expect him to make hard eye contact with her as she looked back at him, and she felt her stomach drop as he shot green fire.

"Move, or I'll drag you."

He pulled her out of the shed into streaming daylight, forcing her to squint and raise her hand to block out the light. Men sat in gaggles; playing cards, trading guns, eating huge chunks of red, dripping meat and watching rejected slaves dance on haphazard stripper poles. Alexander shuddered, suddenly glad she was under the head pirate's jurisdiction. Vaas led her up to a little stage, covered in a familiar bronze sheen: an executioner's platform. Knees shaking, blood still dripping down into her eye, she stood center stage, on display for all to see, in nothing but her undies.

"Oye, motherfuckers, attention!"

Vaas fired a large, automatic rifle into the air with one hand. Most of the men stopped what they were doing, and quite a few moved forward to hear better. Music blaring from a boom box cut out abruptly.

"This here, you like this?" He pushed her forward, still holding her leash taught. It choked her and she fell to a kneeling position. There were whistles and catcalls. Someone else shot a gun in the air. Vaas crouched down next to her, pulled her bra strap down and kissed her shoulder, to howls from the growing group of men, the prickly nature of his facial hair abrasive against her skin.

"You want this pussy?" He reached around her and massaged her between the legs. Panicked, she began to turn around, but he grabbed her ear firmly in his teeth and prevented her from moving. His voice dropped low as he growled "do not fuck with me right now," running his tongue along her cartilage. She squirmed in exasperation, but did not turn around. The group was shouting now, calling their friends over for the show. He slid his hand into her panties and ran his finger up her slit. Releasing her ear, and back to full volume, he continued.

"You want her?" he teased the crowd as he teased her opening. His tough skin and medical-taped fingers were rough against her sensitive flesh. Her face red, she was wet even through the embarrassment, her body flipping her the bird.

"Well news flash, cocksuckers, this is  _mine_. If you touch her," he growled, pulling his hand out from between her thighs, standing sharply, glancing over the crowd, and finding the man with the cut, bleeding face, "this happens." He released a clip from his automatic into the man and several other casualties.

Alexander had screamed through the gag, and then there was absolutely nothing; the camp rang with silence. Vaas smiled. His mood, however, barely lasted until they were off of the stage. He led her back to the shed and chained her to the work table once more, knuckles cracking and head shaking left to right. Pulling her up by the collar, his fury leaked out in livid, hissed accusations.

"Puta, tell me what happened. Did they fuck you? Did you think to scream for help or did you feel that rape was more agreeable? Hm? Did you even fucking think at all?"

"N-no, boss. They – I mean, I – "

"What do you mean, 'N-no, boss'? No what?" he hissed, mimicking her stutter. "How can you let someone else touch you when you know you are  _my_  property? You said to me, you said 'Boss, you are my god.' Explain how this shows respect to your god."

For the first time, she felt anger toward him for what he was saying, and for a moment she didn't care if he had a gun holstered on his hip or if he was a psychopath who had just fondled her in front of dozens of similarly psychopathic men. There was an outrage in his voice that she matched with her own.

"Vaas-" she was cut off by a shock and a nice slap right on her bruised cheek. Bloody, matted hair whipped back as she absorbed the blow. He dropped her to the floor and stared down at her; there was no amusement behind those glittering green orbs.

"Try again, perrita."

Shaking horribly, like the abused dog Vaas already knew she was, she did try again, her vigor holding strong. "Boss, he attacked me in my sleep. I did not ask him to do it. I was confused and disoriented when I woke up and so I lashed out at him instead of screaming or calling out to you; but I did not mean to disrespect you. I would not have let them rape me; they would have had to kill me first. If I'm to be perfectly honest, you're being more of a prick than usual today." She tensed in anticipation of a shock that never came. Instead, she heard her captor break out into seemingly genuine laughter. The shy, socially inept part of her shrunk back into a ball, convinced he was laughing  _at_  her, mocking her attempt to be strong-willed.

"Very cute, chica, I will let it slide this time. You…you are growing on me, hermana. But," he whispered, crouching down next to her and pulling her forward, "if it happens again, you respect _me_  before you think about yourself. I don't want you going into survival mode whatever. I want to hear you screaming my name. I don't like sharing. Understand?" His lips brushed her ear with each word and she murmured that she did understand, a hot sensation pooling in her stomach. "Let's begin day two of training; and if you do well, my little cachorra, you will get a tasty treat afterward. Today we teach you how to take a punishment. No one wants a slave that cries all the time; it deadens the effect, makes your owner jaded. We'll be asking a high price for you, so you'd better be a rounded fucking human being by the end of this. Come here." He offered his hand and Alexander took it, but before she could even fully balance herself, he'd sat down in a chair and pulled her over his legs. In one hand he held a leather swatch. "We will count together and see how high we can get, hm?" With that and a whistling sound in the air, he yelled: "One!"

Following a sharp smack, and a yelp, Alexander managed a meek "One…" back, but immediately wanted nothing to do with any more hurt.

"Boss," she panted, already bracing for the next hit, but he waited for her to speak. "Boss, isn't there anything else I can do that would…please you? Isn't there anything else that we can do that would be… _training_?" She gripped his thigh in her hands desperately and he snickered.

"That does not qualify as training. It is a  _reward_ , and I am not giving you a  _reward_  until you  _earn_  it, chica. We've been over this before." And with that, he brought the swatch down a second time.

Each stroke seemed to gain force, and though the first seemed completely unrestrained, the second, third and fourth stung more bitter each time and cracked louder than the last. By four, large welts had begun to form on her buttocks, and he had begun to get excited, his cock throbbing against her midsection each time she cried out. But she was so hungry, and he seemed to find the punishment more arousing than her body, and so with no way out, she ignored it and continued to count along. She made it to six before she could no longer hold back tears. Through gritted teeth she still managed a solid "Six", but it was not enough.

"Oh perrita, oh chica, we were so close. Our goal was ten." The nature of his voice was rife with disappointment.

"I…I can keep going. I'm ok," she stated, little rivulets cutting through the blood and grime on her face. Her voice shook, but she could feel the emptiness inside her, and worried she might not have enough energy to keep up with his 'training' without some sustenance soon; playing the game ensured survival, but what would she do if she could no longer play. Hell, what would  _he_ do?

"No, no, chica, you are already crying! It's no good. It looks like no protein for you."

He tossed her onto the ground and left through his second door. Tears streaming down her face, too pained to move yet, she lay in a heap on the ground where Vaas had left her, listening to her own hitched breathing and his footsteps in the room beyond. She lifted herself up and tried to crawl to the exit, but knew she could not escape in her current state; even if she made it outside, she was too weak and broken to make it into the jungle, let alone through it. Gloom began to wash over her as she debated falling asleep once more. At least she could go through her useless knowledge of dead painters and art periods as she slept, bringing back bits of her sanity…yet her sanity would continue to decline in the presence of the pirate king – escape was the only  _real_  solution; both sides of her fought to gain control of her body. Sleep looked the victor until, to her great surprise, after more shuffling in the room beyond, he came back. In one hand was a banana and in the other a can of juice.

"You should be saying 'Thank you, boss man. You shouldn't have, I don't deserve it'. I don't like the way you are looking at me. You're really freaking me out, guapa."

But despite his words, she continued to smile up at him, her eyes wide with relief and general elation. Shifting to a kneeling position, and opening up her scabbed knees to bleed once more, she took the offering and began to laugh, equal parts joy and hysteria. Fresh tears began to fall and this time, they were not brought on by pain.

"T-thank you, Vaas."

He cocked his head to the side and held the button up, but didn't push it. Something made him pause as he stroked his facial hair, watching her struggle to peel the banana. He crouched down in front of her. With her nail she managed to pull the fruit apart; in no time it was gone. Then came the challenge of the can; her fingers fumbled with the tab and she couldn't pop it open. Without a word, Vaas swiped it from her and opened it. Her smile abated as she watched to see if he would keep it or throw it or some other rash thing; but he took a sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed it back to her. She whispered 'thank you' under her breath, and chugged the drink.

"Don't think I'm getting soft. Hoyt ordered me to feed you today. He's concerned you'll die too soon…and hermana…mm, Alexander, wasn't it? We found a bag when we were going through your friends' shit. Purple, kind of ugly, big white fucking cat thing on it. Is it yours?"

She hiccupped and looked at him, wondering what purpose it would serve to give her back her bag. And then, he had remembered her name. He pulled out his gun in the prolonged silence and raised it along with his eyebrows as though to ask if he need to use a different method to get her talking. Inclining her head, she said:

"Yeah, it should be." She hiccupped. "Why? Where are..Ema and Anni? Are they still-" He cut her off.

"Seriously, for a slave, you ask way too many questions. Your mama and your papa never taught you how to talk to your superiors or something? We will work on that, hermana." He shifted forward, still crouching, and began to poke and pinch at her fat, trying crudely to tell if she had lost weight. She began to recoil, and so he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her completely away from the table. "Do not leave until I tell you to," he murmured, sitting her down in the chair. As her bottom hit wood, she whined aloud. The welts were still smarting unbearably.

He left and returned swiftly with her bag. The "big white fucking cat thing" was a Hello Kitty luggage tag, reminiscent of a childhood left behind long ago, and it  _was_ an ugly, lumpy, purple duffle bag. It wasn't the one that had all her shit in it (that was back at the hotel) but it had  _some_  essentials. She waited patiently in her seat as her master stood over her, holding the awkward thing. The juxtaposition was almost too much and she had to fight hard not to burst out laughing at the macho man holding what could very well be a little girl's sleepover bag. Her insides roiled at the idea that she had almost laughed in her current situation; her mind flashed to the sniffling, sobbing children back at the lagoon and the hint of a smile melted away.

He opened up the bag and shifted through it, though she was sure it had already been searched; her phone and about two hundred US dollars were almost certainly gone. The little blue Swiss Army Knife was also, surely, taken long ago. Once he was satisfied - and it took longer than she expected - he threw it at her.

"That's for next Friday. Hoyt, he wants to see our progress, see how you're doing. We're going to make sure you're nice and pretty, a beautiful little Disney princess, like fucking Cinderella rising from the ashes, eah? We have very little time for this transformation, but I think we can do it."

"So I only have a few things here," she mumbled, rifling through the remainder of the bag. "I can brush my hair and teeth, but you're going to have to let me shower at some point."

"Chica, if by shower you mean bathe by the waterfall then yes, you've got it. We don't have a fucking shower at this five star resort."

* * *

As he said it, he knew he was lying, but she didn't know any better; there  _was_ a shower in the camp and it  _did_ work. The problem then became whether he  _should_ or  _should not._ On the one hand, all of the cargo was scrubbed down by the waterfall; on the other, it was a hell of a lot more convenient and safer to just let her shower there at the compound…

Then there was the other issue: his lust. Her conflicting opinions of him, and his opinion of her, were very similar; they both loathed and wanted the other, sometimes at the same time. It made him so fucking hot. He saw the flash of desire when he was gentle with her, the pink that rose to her cheeks when his fingers brushed her skin without causing hurt. He loved the pain in her voice, loved the troubled eyes, but loathed the pathetic side, loathed the weakness. She had a darkness within her that he wanted to dig up, but years of pampering and exposure to white people and America had made her soft; he could find the beast within if she would just let go. He saw real potential; she'd already let go of her friends. The fact that she listened, compounded with the fact that she obeyed, pleased him greatly. With no further reason to be near her, he returned to work.

They continued on with Vaas's regimen.

" _She respects me…more than some of my men,"_ he noted after a particularly good training session. " _But the way she cringes and pulls back, ah, it kills me. When she's timid I just want to choke the bitch."_

The temptation would be great if he let her shower, and Hoyt had given him explicit instructions regarding her…but Vaas had been so good for almost two weeks. He just wanted a little taste, to feel her from the inside; he didn't need to fuck her until she bled. He struggled back and forth on the shower issue for a long while. In the meantime, he occupied himself with their little training sessions and would taunt her with the prospect of starvation. If she passed his benchmark, she was allowed a little chunk of Bambi to eat, and some fruit for desert, but she was otherwise given a banana and a protein bar or a granola thing. Once enough time had passed that he was sure she was "improving", he allowed her a fresh bowl of water every day for drinking and hygiene.

"Cachorra," he would say, "you have improved today, and I can see it. You're going to be perfect, like a fuckable little doll that  _bleeds_."

* * *

The way he weaved his fingers together to rest his chin would make her heart palpitate, but the truth was the goddamn obedience training hadn't really done anything except make Alexander harder. Previously unable to act on her toes, she was learning how to speak up and how to respond quickly, how to lie with both her words and her body, and how to  _read others_. She played along because she was a) not stupid, b) didn't want to die, and c) working at putting Vaas's guard down (the reward of Vaas's gentle side didn't hurt either). It had worked to an extent. He hadn't bound her hands since her first night on the island, and he gave her increasing slack to wander around the shed, but she hadn't expected him to simultaneously increase security around her. There were now men stationed outside of the primary door; it was they who refilled her water every day and emptied her waste bucket.

In a sense her plan was backfiring; Mr. Don't-Fuck-With-Me-Because-I'm-Fucking-Crazy was becoming attached in his own, sick, sadistic kind of way. Similarly, she too was becoming attached to her master. She relished how well he treated her in comparison to the other slaves. She even relished when he touched her, though most of the time it meant hurt; she fought to tell herself that her reaction was a coping mechanism and nothing real every time it happened, only to have it happen more forcefully the next time.

The turning point came a week before their meeting with Hoyt, the moment she realized she might be truly fucked.

It was morning time - she'd heard Vaas leave for breakfast a while ago - and she was still asleep when the door opened again. Rolling over to face the main door, she squinted into the light and was surprised to see someone that wasn't Vaas. Panic began to overtake her as she watched the lanky figure squat down and tilt his head at her. A guard closed the door behind him and her eyes began to adjust.

"So you're the one that's getting Vaas all worked up." His voice was delicate, but on the verge of cracking; he must have been mid-puberty. "I've been wondering why he's been so off. Thought I'd come take a look."

"Who are you?" she asked, listening for Vaas's movements in the room behind the second door - but to no avail; he was still out doing errands. The boy tilted his head in the other direction, nonthreateningly.

"I'm Nestor. I work tech here for the whole island network. I'm not here to hurt you, just to talk."

As her eyes became acclimated to the semi-darkness once more, she saw he was a very attractive boy, but younger than she by more than a bit. His hair was an unruly mess of raven waves. In the artificial light, his eyes looked hazel, but might be brown. Unlike most of the pirates, he was clean, and his clothes looked laundered. He was decked out in jeans, a black tank top, and a red bandana around his neck - the signature color of Vaas's little gang. His figure was gangly and vaguely feminine, but he had a little muscle on his bones. Deciding they were fairly evenly matched as far as strength, she pulled a jacket from her bag on over her bra, and crawled out from under the table.

"What do you want to talk about? You know my name, I assume."

"Yeah, Alexander Marque. Passport stamps from Japan and China. Mixed heritage. I've read your file."

"I have a file?"

"Of course. You're one of Hoyt's special projects, one of the few entrusted to Vaas."

"I see." She didn't really, but she hardly wanted to look stupid in front of this boy. She continued on, "So what do you need to know?"

"I told you, I just want to talk."

"Ok, then talk, Nestor."

"I am 19-years-old – a few younger than you, clearly." She gave him a glare, but he didn't seem to notice as he went on. "I've been here for a little over two years. My parents and I were on a trip down in this South Eastern area of Asia, doing a kind of food tour, when our vessel got lost in a storm and ended up here. My parents, the others on the boat, were all slaughtered or sold off. They kept me – Hispanic, male; you don't get much for that sort of thing – and used me for a while, probably six months. Then, they realized I knew how to work technology. I say they, but it was really Vaas. Despite his schizophrenic nature, he has a good head on his shoulders, and he saw potential in me. Your turn. Tell me about your background, and explain to me how you've stayed on the boss's good side for so long."

"Have I?"

"Has he beaten you into a comma? Has he let the men rape you in droves until you can't move without pain?" She shook her head. "Then you've stayed on his good side."

Despite the gravity of his words, he seemed quite calm. Perhaps the rape had made him tougher, made him thick-skinned; or maybe he had never been raped, only heard about it? She looked at his pretty face once more and knew she was kidding herself; a face like that on a body like his couldn't have escaped unscathed – what else could he have meant by 'used'?

"I come from the United States, but you knew that. I was an Art History professor, but I'd only just started a year ago. I'm not  _that_  much older than you, kid. I also did some curating at the local art museum. My so-called friends wanted to blow off some steam right before they had big projects due at their company, and so here I am. As far as Vaas? I don't know. I just…I listen and I do what he says. I speak honestly with him, even though it means a punishment here and there. That's it. I try not to bullshit him."

"Huh. No wonder he likes you."

Color rose in her cheeks as she sputtered on her own spit, having inhaled sharply at his absurd statement. Coughing, eyes watering, she laughed.

"You must be kidding me. "Likes" is a strong- "

"No really, he enjoys people like you. It's why he doesn't slaughter his men; they submit to him but mostly know when to be assertive. I see that in you. Plus, you're pretty. I haven't seen a project like you in a long while."

Mouth agape, she realized he was being serious with her. He studied her with his – yes, clearly hazel – eyes, watching her reactions, analyzing her, knitting his brows together, and biting his lower lip.

"Thanks for the chat. I'll see you around, Lex."

Having apparently acquired the information he had been looking for, Nestor stood and left, leaving her baffled and alone for the rest of the morning.


	4. Desire

While Nestor had said nothing about keeping the visit a secret from Vaas, Alexander didn't mention their little rendezvous when Vaas returned just in case. He was becoming very protective of her, and risking pain for nothing was not playing her cards right. When her master didn't mention the visit, Alexander convinced herself they were safe and that he did not know.

Days passed and Vaas upped their games as the meeting with Hoyt loomed closer. They played them more often, sometimes twice a day. He even let her walk with him to another shack untethered when an emergency came up amidst their fun. Eventually, as if Nestor's saying so hadn't been enough, Vaas showed her firsthand that what happened to inferiors he did not take amusement in and she was reminded of how lucky she really was.

The exercise was fetch, and though cheerier, Vaas was more hostile than usual. Though it felt a contradiction, it wasn't particularly surprising, given his past record. Small retrievals came first; a pair of plyers, rags and such. If she was too slow, a smack or buzz from the collar; too hesitant, a spanking with the swatch. If she did it right by some miracle, he had hinted she would be "rewarded".

"Wh-what?"

"You did good, chica. Come here for your reward."

With his eyes narrowed to slits, he was waving her over jovially. Though not thrilled to oblige due to his less than even temperament, she slid her calloused feet across the planks, closer to him. He pulled her down on his lap so that she was straddling him, her chest up against his. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he reached around to grab a handful of her hair. As he spoke, she could taste his breath like straight gin.

"You've been a good slave, Alexander," he hummed. "And I  _appreciate_  that."

Before she could reply, he pulled her forward and kissed her. Her general shock melted into momentary physical disgust; the taste was evocative of her harrowing nights out with abusive faux friends. At first he played nicely, teasing her lips open and supporting her head gently, sensually, rough fingers weaving gradually deeper into her hair to hold her close. Taking advantage, Alexander began to push into the kiss, too, allowing him into her mouth, reveling in the sudden sensory overload. Then, for no clear reason, he wrapped his hand in her tangled locks and clenched it tightly into a fist. Teeth bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. She squealed, but did not pull back for fear he would rip the muscle off between his teeth. He pounded and tore at her mouth until her hot tears spilled over onto his face, her sounds of anguish finally penetrating his concentration. Grinning, he pulled back, teeth painted rosy pink. Trying desperately not to swallow her own blood, the dark fluid began to fall from her bottom lip. He, however, was not keen to waste a taste of her and so he swept forward, smearing the bead into a copper stain.

Pleased – nay, satisfied – with her performance, he kicked back in the gore splattered chair, rocking it onto its hind legs, and let her off her leash to scramble about in the room beyond to fetch a bottle of water. The door opened onto a little kitchenette, the water premeditatedly placed on the counter; around the corner there was a bed, a handful of Vaas's clothes on the floor or hung on a lamp, and a drawer filled with a toothbrush, porn, and some condoms, used and otherwise. Quite used to putting down the pain in times of obscene curiosity, she scampered about more than strictly required to find the bottle, delaying her return. Hurrying back, worried she'd been too slow, but also dreading having completed her task as briskly as she had, she allowed him to sit her across his lap as he opened the bottle.

"Say 'Ah'," he demanded. She did. But before it even hit her tongue she knew it was not water. The vodka burned her lacerations, her injured tongue, her cracked lips, and she spat pinkish spirits onto the floor with a deliberate sound of disgust. He laughed, but it was not full of delight; it was manic. His fingers gripped her face, vice-like, the scent of blood and dirt engulfing her as he applied painful pressure to her mouth, and saline streams slid down her cheeks.

"The FUCK do you think you're doing, wasting good liquor?"

She refrained from mentioning the time he had thrown half a bottle of perfectly fine rum against the wall. With malice, he forced the bottle into her mouth, pinched her nose closed, and made her swallow the last two gulps. Mouth and eyes stinging, she gasped for breath as he pulled the container away. Her head was already spinning.

"You see? This is for your own fucking good; do you know how fucking filthy mouths are? Do you want an infection? Do you want to cut your tongue off? Earnhardt's the closest thing we have to a real doctor here, and he simply wouldn't be able to perform that surgery." He muttered the last to himself, but his tone was apologetic; as though he was sorry she had forced him to do it, that he'd had no say in the matter.

His mood had shifted back to positive, his body relaxed once more; his eyes had even softened to that almost-compassionate gawk he inflicted upon her when she was simply too much for him to handle. Her chance had come. Snaking her arms around his neck, she kissed him, probing with her injured tongue along his lips until he let her in, pushing herself not to wince, not to whimper at the soreness. She ran her hands through his hair, eliciting a growl. This was the last chance she was going to be given before their meeting with Hoyt.

"Why don't you grab another bottle or two and we can have some fun?" she whispered as her whole body shivered with the effort of not trembling, goosebumps prickling up across her skin. As he closed his eyes to revel in the pleasure of her touch, she flicked her gaze to the door; the guards would be changing soon and if she could finish him into a stupor, she would have a couple of minutes to make it work. The chance she had was a slim one, but what else could she do? Who the fuck knew how the meeting with Hoyt would change her situation? She was willing to put her cards on the table and go all in.

He snarled, voracious, and pulled her close, bit at her ear and tongued it. As her hands trailed down to try and grope around with his belt, he made his way down to the crook of her neck, lips brushing against receptive skin. If the goosebumps had been fading, these sensations brought them back in full force; she tried to withhold a mewl in her throat, feeling him tighten beneath her, and she let out a moan without meaning to. His hand came up her back and he began fiddling with her bra latch, while she too was having trouble with his unyielding belt.

 _Why the fuck can't I do this?_ she demanded of herself, panic beginning to swell. It was then, in a lapse of judgement, that Alex glanced down, darker eyes locking with his for just a moment. But it was enough. She heard him groan against her neck, and even as her panting had brought his member up, he snickered in her ear and placed a hand on hers, still messing around with his belt, her fingers hopelessly uncoordinated.

"I know what you're doing, hermana," he murmured. The words caused her to stop. "And I have to say it isn't very nice. I am very disappointed, so  _very_  disappointed, Alex. You almost had me there, but.. _.tche,"_ he clicked his tongue, _"_ you shouldn't have looked me in the eye, bichito. Stay here."

Terrified, her left brain told her snap out of it and pay attention, listen to his tone and not the words; what he said was still quiet, still calm, and that was a good sign. He stood slowly and let her slide off his lap. Eyes locked, she slumped to the floor as he left, not once looking away from her. There was something wrong about him, something about the eyes; it felt like sadness. She was still untethered, but fought the urge to try and run. He knew what she was doing? He did look immensely disappointed. The thing would only work if he was not on high alert. If she ran now, he would be on her like a dog before she even cleared the compound…she would not run.

It turned out to be the best call she had made on his island.

Substantial time passed, but he did return; Vaas sauntered back in, holding another slave girl, by her tangled brown hair, this one tan, pretty in a generic sort of way. Her body heaved in great, dramatic sobs as he held her down on the ground.

"Alexander, come here and look at this."

Unsure, she stood and came over. The girl was covered in scrapes and scratches, her feet were bloody and her hair had bits of plant life sticking out of it. Vaas pulled Alex even closer, sat her down immediately next to the sobbing girl. Her stomach dropped as she realized he really did know exactly what she had been trying to do; it hadn't been rocket science after all, and he was smarter than he appeared. Alexander had known it had been a slim chance.

"Do you know what happened, chica?" His smirk was smug, victorious, but the hint of disappointment was still there.

"It looks like she tried to run away."

"Very observant, Alex." His eyes twinkled with glee. "She did. She wiggled out of her restraints and ran," he whistled, twirling his finger, "right into my lap. Right into my fucking lap. And we caught her, so I thought I should show you."

"Show me what?"

"Show you what happens when you try to run away. Girl, hermana, what is your name?" He kicked the bawling girl with his black boot and she screamed, thrashing out.

"I-it wasn't my fault, your men left-" She stopped as Vaas grabbed her wrists and flung her to the ground.

Alexander was looking at the girl as though she were an oddity. How could someone be so stupid as to try and escape barefoot in a jungle? Especially without a weapon. At least in her own plan she would have had a pair of boots and a knife. To get caught was the worst of it. Alex cocked her head and leaned back to a more comfortable position as the girl whimpered. Then, on top of everything else, she was challenging Vaas's authority; she hadn't even answered him. She was in for a beating. Alexander steadied herself and reminded herself that she wasn't in trouble because she had listened.

"Alex, come here and hold her wrists."

Alexander, quite rightfully confused, scooted around and grabbed the girl's wrists. The girl writhed, trying to shake her off, and Lex lost her grip. The brunette managed to whack the pirate in the ribs. Vaas, a little more pissed, reiterated his command, squeezing the girl's bound wrists together with enough strength to make her shriek, and holding them out to Alex.

"Hold her wrists,  _tightly."_

She nodded, holding the slave with more force. Vaas stood and went to sit on the girl, straddling her to keep her still. From his pocket, he pulled out the pair of plyers from their earlier exercise. With his left hand, he held the escapee's chin and brought the plyers down on one of her teeth. The nameless girl's eyes bulged, and her figure became even more violent, twisting and shaking as best she could, muscles pushing to their limits to try and break free. The creaking of the tool, wailing, and then eventual crunching of the tooth being released from its gums shoved Alex into a daze – her mind was trying to block out her being an accessory to torture – but fear made her hold steady.

"I like this one. Look, chica, look how white it is." Vaas twisted the tooth around for Alexander to see, "That is what you call dental hygiene. Magnífico!"

Bloody gore still hanging from it, she observed it and nodded enthusiastically, steadying her churning stomach through will power alone. "It's a beautiful tooth," she managed.

The girl beneath Vaas began spraying blood, trying to spit it out before she swallowed it, and splattered some on his cheek. He grimaced, placing the tooth in the box on the table as Alex held the girl down as best she could. Part of Alexander's heart panged at this as she swirled her own blood around in her mouth.

"Chica, what is your name? I already know who you are; I just don't care enough to look it up. Just tell me your name, puta; I am not in the mood to be tested." He tucked a smoke between his lips.

"P-please don't do this – "

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Alex thought, rolling her eyes. Even as her stomach was about to relieve itself of its small rations, she could not help but feel anger through the sympathy.  _Just answer the fucking question._ She tried to push the girl's mouth into motion telepathically.  _Please, just answer the fucking question._ Her heart was beating rapidly and she fought not to look sympathetically at the slave girl.

Vaas told Alexander to let her go, and he sat the girl upright, dusting her off even as she flipped around trying to smack him again. With one hand he caught her bound wrists and lit up with the other. Pausing a moment, he took a long drag and offered Alex a puff; she declined. He asked the girl once more as he exhaled:

"Tell me your name, puta, right fucking now," he burned the end of his cigarette into her shoulder. "What is your name?"

Incoherent, mumbling, manic, she lunged at Vaas, chomping at empty air, but still nothing of her name.

"I wasn't going to kill you, I wasn't, but since you don't want to talk with me I guess you lost your head," he said, thrilled. It took Alex just a split second too long to understand what he meant as he lifted the gun to the back of the runaway's head and pulled the trigger.

Her forehead blew out as the bullet exited, spraying brain matter every which way. Having expected the violence, but hardly an execution, she was rather stunned, mouth's hinge having come undone once more, her hand having shot up to cover her surprise. Vaas knelt down next to her and put his hands on her face. The nameless girl's body slumped over next to them so that her head was between her knees, positioned like some morbid, sadistic artist's rendition of a woman at prayer.

"Do you see, cachorra, what happens to bad dogs?"

"Yes," she whispered up to him, voice quivering. He pressed his thumbs into her cheeks and smeared the bloody pulp in circles.

"You're my favorite toy now, so don't make me put you down."

Nodding with purpose, she saw him pull his hands away, then reach up to lick his thumb deliberately, watching her reaction. With some hesitation, she reached up and wiped a speck of blood off of his face.

"I know what you think: you and every other slave." He smiled and leaned forward to graze her lips with his own, appearing to tremble despite himself just to taste her blood once more, leaving traces of the woman's blood in her mouth. It was a metallic flavor, the other woman's blood, and more bitter than her own. Shoving her onto her back, he hoisted her legs up and over his hips so that he was wedged in, tight between her thighs.

"Should I fuck you on the floor, chica? You seemed so eager before." His fingers trailed down her face, lingered on her chapped lips. "Who the fuck needs alcohol? I think you've played along nicely today and earned a special reward. What do you think?"

She whimpered in response, too distracted to speak, and his cock, already hard from all the violent stimulation, twitched at her sound. Even through his pants, she could feel his need growing. Confliction building, Alexander fought against crying as the bloody lump of corpse seeped fluid into an expanding pool. She'd been on the receiving end of Vaas's wrath before, sure, but never to the point that she was really scared for her life. Scared for her looks, for her sanity, or her morals, yes; but her life? No. Never. She thought then that maybe she should have been. Nestor had been right, the smart aleck – the boss gave her special treatment. In comparison to the rest of the cattle, she was the golden fucking calf. Her mind snapped back; she had to answer him, but what was the right answer? What would keep him from shooting her too?

"I'll do as you wish," she whispered.

If there had been a right answer, she'd found it, for he shuddered at her utterance and ground his throbbing member into her silky underwear. Though his fingers grasped at her flesh, bruising her, and his jagged, dirty nails bit into her skin, she knew it was his rendition of a reward, and she let out an unenthusiastic gasp. He cut her short by shoving his thumb into her mouth.

"Suck," he commanded.

Her tongue swirled around it, pulling off the blood and grime, and she sucked. Gently, she raised her eyes to his; the look he wore told Alexander that he was going to fuck her, fuck her bloody and raw until she couldn't stand. He was hard against her soft flesh, his teeth biting down on his lower lip was pulling out her reluctant anticipation, soaking her, but then he pulled away. Breathing heavily, Alex sat up, wincing at the lacerations on her smarting buttocks. He traced her own saliva along her chin with his thumb, lack of enthusiasm plastered visibly across his brow, and he stood. In a fit of rage, he kicked the girl's body over, splashing more blood on Alexander, and laughed as she flinched. Wiping the blood as best she could from her face with her hands, she watched him slam the outter door behind him.

Forever mounted in the seconds it took him to go and come back. He went to grab another slave – another generic, somewhat appealing girl, this one with obsidian hair and rosy skin that was beginning to scald in the island's sunlight. He brought her back to the shed, and took her through the second door without looking back at Alexander; his intent was straightforward. Alex could hear her screaming, heard Vaas hit her, and his desirous snarling; then, she heard swift and profuse swearing. Less than five minutes later, he came back, his belt still undone, the girl's underwear gone, her hair clenched in his hand as he dragged her with force across the old floorboards and rusty nails. He threw her onto the floor of the room, at Alexander – it was the girl he had pointed out to Abroon from the lagoon trip, she realized.

"Look at her, Alexander, and tell me why I am unable fuck her. Tell me why I cannot fuck her into a comma when two seconds ago my dick was about to burst through my pants!" he shouted.

Perplexed, Alexander looked at the other slave. As though to beg for help, through streaks of mascara applied long ago and matted knots of black hair, she looked up at Alexander. A bruise was beginning to form around her left eye and her freckled cheek looked swollen. Like stepping back from a Monet, she leaned back away from the girl, and the reason Vaas was asking struck Alex; the girl was familiar in that she looked a whole lot like she did. They both had dark hair, lighter skin, freckles, and brownish eyes. Alexander was a little less ambiguously Hispanic looking, but they otherwise could have passed for sisters.

"I will tell you, Alexander," he continued, voice delicate once more, crouching down behind her and placing his hand on her shoulder. "I cannot fuck her because she doesn't whine like you do, whimper softly like I'll hurt her, tremble at my touch, conflicted emotions of desire and fear, reverence and hatred battling behind your wide eyes. She does not simper when I caress her." He demonstrated by trailing his fingers down her arm and she let out an involuntary gasp. "She only flinches, screams," his hands clenched into her arms with annoyance and Alex swallowed a whimper, "then cries with a downturned, disgusted look. Those sounds do not make me hard like your voice does; her eyes do not make me hungry." He spun around to face Alex head-on.

Incredulous and perhaps a bit pleased, she gawked up at him, her face still smeared and flecked with blood and brain pulp, dirt and tears. She shut her mouth quickly; this stunned thing was  _not_ going to become a habit. She shook her head back and forth instead.

"What do you mean, 'no'? I'm no longer asking you, Alex; I'm  _telling_ you." He shifted his attention. "Amigo!" he shouted to a guard outside. "Take the slave back. I don't need her. Leave her for the boys. Bring me…bring me Nes. I need a word with him."

Horror flooded through Alexander as she worked to keep her cool; he knew about Nestor's visit and was going to punish them both. What had she done wrong? She hadn't let Nes touch her or anything. She'd done nothing, nothing at all. Vaas looked down at her as he swung through the inner door for a moment, emerging with a video camera and a hodgepodge tripod. Smiling at her blank stare, her master began to set up the contraption facing her.

"I have a special treat for you. It'll be a special treat for me later, too. You told me you'd do as I say, Alex. He's cute; you've met Nestor, right?" The little twinkle in his gaze was back, that mischievous, all-knowing glint.

"I have, but I…don't…I don't understand why– "

He came forward as she began to pull away, crouching in front of her and placing his finger on her lips.

"Shh, Hermana, I just want to have a good time. I want you to have a good time. Don't fight me. I am really,  _really_ not in the mood for your shit right now. Vamos jugar."

The door slammed open, Vaas snapped back up to a standing position, and Nes sauntered in, apathetic in all his glory. Large, shining eyes framed by thick lashes eyed the dead girl suspiciously for a while, and then glanced over to Alexander on the floor. His eyes trailed up to the tripod and he sighed, probably speculating as to what was coming next, but not particularly relishing it. His wandering sight finally landed on Vaas where it lingered in the conspicuous silence.

"Well, Nestor, what have you got to say for yourself, hombre?" The king weaved his fingers together behind his head and leaned his head back.

"Nothing, boss. I didn't touch her; I didn't even mind fuck her. We just talked."

"He's telling the truth," Alex interjected.

"Did I fucking ask you? No. I did not fucking ask you." He made to smack the young woman, but seemed to change his mind, instead rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Nessy, Nes, Nestor…why didn't you ask me first? Why didn't you just fucking ask? I'm not mad, I'm cool, I'm just curious, hermano."

"I didn't think to ask. I just did what I wanted to do. That's all." He shifted his weight as though bored of the conversation and Vaas's company, and then shrugged.

Alex was impressed by the boy's direct attitude; it was the one way she'd found to keep herself alive and it had apparently worked for Nes as well. Though, she guessed, it had taken him longer to figure it out.

"Amigo, look, I am going to let you off the hook this time, but you will have to make this slight up to me. Your respect is seriously lacking, chico, I mean  _honestly_. This is  _my_ fucking island,  _MY_ fucking kingdom; and all I see are little shits like you fucking with my stuff. I saved your worthless ass, hermano, and I expect you to  _respect_  me for it." Vaas made his way to the chair in the center of the room and sat down, his right hand lightly resting on the camera.

"Ok, Vaas, what'll it be?" Nestor was still putting up a strong face, but Alex found it hard to believe he really didn't care what could happen next. The pirate king had just killed a girl. The girl was still in the room. That wasn't something you could just ignore.

"Alex there? I want you to fuck her."

For the first time, the look behind those hazel irises shifted from indifference to anxiety. His form, so far stoic, began to writhe under the reality of Vaas's words; wringing his hands and tapping his foot, he looked at Alex as though it caused him great pain to do so. Sex was a touchy subject for him, apparently.

" _It would be for me too,"_ Alex thought, " _If I'd been raped by these pirates for six months."_

She looked back and forth between the two males, unsure as to what she should do, what she could get away with doing. The uneasy tension dictated she sit still and wait. As Nes opened his mouth, about to defy their king, Vaas hit a button on the camera and a little green light turned on.

"I can only get it up to her, chico."

"Vaas, you know I'm – "

"A little virgin in this respect, si, of course I know, hermano, that's why I picked you; you won't fuck her up too badly. We need to keep the merchandise looking good, keep it tip-top."

"I don't know if I can," he said flatly, his voice cracking. His hand came up nervously to push back his uncontrollable locks.

Vaas crawled over to Alex and pulled her between his legs, facing Nestor, and then motioned for Nes to come closer; he did. The boss rested his head on her shoulder, looking up at the boy, sly grin spreading across his face.

"I will help. What makes you hard, amigo? Tits? Ass? Lips tight around your cock? What?"

"I…I don't know."

"You do like pussy, don't you Nestor? I've seen you watching the others take a shot at some of the rejects. It's easy; really, you just slide your dick right on in." He slipped his hand down her underwear and pulled it back out, causing Alex momentary panic and arousal. "She's already wet. I've done the hard work for you." He rubbed his fingers together to show him the clear strings of lubrication.

"Vaas, I-"

Vaas chuckled, spread her legs a little and unlatched her bra, letting it fall off to the side. She made to hide her breasts, but Vaas pulled her arms back and motioned for Nestor to come closer. She felt Vaas's stubble prickling her ear.

"Call his name, amiga; moan it like you moan for me."

"Vaas, I don't understand why  _you_  can't just fuck her," Nestor exclaimed, exasperated, running a hand through his wild mop once more, and continuing to do more harm than good.

"I don't trust myself to keep her intact," he growled, running his nails along her thigh, "and besides, I have…orders." Then, again, "moan his name, bichito."

"Boss, he doesn't want to, but you do…you could-"

"Shhh, chica, his name," he brought his hand up to her neck and let it hang lightly, applying only enough force to make his point known.

"Nestor," she intoned coyly. Color rushed to her cheeks; Nestor's too.

Vaas slid Alexander's underwear off; she did not resist, but her heart was beating out of her chest, palpitating in an irregular pattern.

"Take off your clothes, Nes, and kneel down here. She's dripping." Vaas touched her glistening anticipation with his finger and brought it up to his mouth, then licked it. "And if you don't start cooperating I will ask you to do a month back down in the pit. The boys miss you, Nes. They downright  _beg_ to have a go at you." Vaas's teeth shone bright like pearls.

The teen shed his layers into a pile, leaving only his underwear on. Scars laced across his body, white patterns of pain tattooed into his flesh like testaments to his difficult history. She'd never experienced pain like Nestor's and was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that Vaas had taken such an interest in her. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, he knelt down with them.

"I can handle it from here," Nes said, dismissing Vaas, an air of sass about his voice.

Either very happy or so pissed he was hysterical, Vaas smiled from ear to ear and stood, leaving Alexander alone on the ground with the boy. He shuffled in his pocket and tossed a little metallic square pouch at Nestor before sitting back down on his throne.

"If she gets pregnant, she's worthless."

With a look akin to embarrassment, the kid slipped his underwear off and leaned in to kiss Alex softly, his hand coming up to hold her cheek; surprised, her body stopped shaking.

" _When did **I**  start shaking?" _she thought, rattled. " _His touch is warm."_

Fumbling with the condom, he paused to slide it onto his length. Then, readying himself, he looked up at her, eyes wide with fear, but focused. She nodded and he slid in. He was hardly the biggest she'd ever had, but he was just on the verge of enough. Looking over to Vaas, she was shocked to see him stony-faced, arms crossed, and hard-lipped, fingers white because of how firmly they were gripping. Scared, she looked back to Nestor, who was panting and trying very hard not to look her in the eye. They did not try anything interesting; they did the absolute bare minimum required of them. Feeling him slowing down with no sign of finishing in sight, she reached up and pulled him closer so she could nibble at his ear.

"I'm not going to be able to finish," he whispered, his lips brushing the side of her face, voice quivering on the edge of tears.

"Nestor," she moaned, and felt him throb, "you're so hard. You can finish. If you do well, next time, I'll even suck your cock," she whispered the last so Vaas couldn't hear her; nervous about how he'd feel. " _Whatever. He'll be even more pissed if Nestor doesn't finish."_

Rocking into her, he continued on.

"Please keep talking."

"You feel so good inside me," she muttered, moaning with emphasis. "I-I'm really close. Please keep going."

Nestor's body shook with the statement as he began to thrust with an awakened passion; he groped her tits gently, speeding up to a finale. Focusing, she tightened first, her whole body convulsing with the orgasm, and then felt him jerk pleasurably into her almost in tandem. He held himself there for a moment longer, spilling his semen into the condom, cock throbbing, before he carefully slid out.

* * *

Vaas was having trouble concentrating as the two lay on the floor, spent, and breathing heavily. He left them without giving instructions, taking the camera and tripod into his bedroom. Grabbing a bottle of water to drink, he lay down on his bed and watched the video on the little camera screen. When Nestor was fully clothed, he would ask him to make it into a DVD so he could watch it on a bigger screen; maybe jerk off to it later. The way she panted and gasped when she was hit just right…he covered his eyes with his hand.

" _Oye, you also have a dead body to take care of,"_ he reminded himself. " _But you'll have to wait until that boner dies down before you go disposing of the garbage."_

Sitting up, he grabbed a pill bottle from his nightstand and popped a few. The small room began to swim pleasantly after a time, the anger that had been bubbling up dispelled, and he stood, only slightly woozy. Opening the door, the girl was already asleep under the table – how long had he been gone? – and Nes had bolted. Feet heavy, camera in tow, Vaas made his way to Nestor's computer hut. The boy was there, eyes drooping, staring at his computer blankly. The fan was off and only half of the incandescents were on. "'Ey, Nessy," he sang, plopping the camera down in the boy's hands. "I brought you something to work on. Burn that onto a DVD."

"How could you make me do that?" The child's voice was hollow; it quivered and cracked, unable to complete a single thought without falling apart.

"I didn't make you do  _anything_ , hermano," Vaas chirruped. "I gave you a choice, didn't I? I'm a fair slave driver."

"It wasn't really a choice-"

"Look, chico," Vaas said, slamming his hand down on the desk, blood beginning to seep from a healing wound across his palm, "I gave you two, perfectly valid selections; neither one involved me painting the floor with your brains." The man made a gun shape with his hand and put it to Nestor's forehead, then closed his eyes and ran his finger along the butt of his gun. "Although you  _are_  pushing me right now, niño."

The boy, complexion somehow more sallow than two days ago, plugged the camera into the computer and stared at his fingers on the keyboard, waiting for it to finish downloading to his desktop. His superior sat back in his usual metal chair and lit up something sickly sweet.

"Nestor, do you want a hit? You're too uptight, man. You keep that up and you're going to die in this jungle."

"Vaas, I want to go home."

The words were chilling to Vaas's good mood, caused him to shiver in discomfort, and he flicked his gaze over to Nestor, pleased to find their eyes lock. Continuing to smoke up, he sat watching the youth until he spoke again, waiting to see if it had only been a momentary spark or if he had meant it.

"My two older brothers are still alive."

"I couldn't give a flying fuck, hermano. You work here or you die. I don't want you to be under the impression that you are a free man; I own you, just like I own Alexander, just like I own all the rest. If you run, if you escape, I will hunt you down and I will kill you. Then, I'll kill any fucking family you might have left just to be fair. This is my island; you have to play by my rules or it'll be bye bye Nessy."

Cold, Nestor flicked his mouse back and forth, popped a DVD in the drive and hit a button. Faster than he had time to smoke his joint, the video was ready and Vaas was on his way back to the room, hoping to satisfy his hot loins for a night.

The next day, Vaas awoke face-first on the ground of his room. He'd stumbled back the previous night after drinking at the mess, high on something or  _some things._ But the DVD was a little ways from his hand; he'd never managed to jack off. He took a swig from a bottle near his hand to wash the flavor of sleep out of his mouth. His radio crackled to life. He grumbled a response back, still lying on his floor. A peon went on and on about an issue one of their outposts was having; Vaas struggled to give a shit. Eventually, he agreed to gather some men to go investigate and hoisted himself off the floor.

He ruffled his hair and looked at the DVD, still lying at the foot of his bed. He would not touch it. He glanced over to the door out of his room; she was still there, probably asleep. On his way out, he put a piece of jerky and a handful of dried coconut in a bowl. Without looking at her, he placed the bowl on the table and walked out into the light that was far too bright and on his nerves. Alexander did not see him all day.


	5. Submission

"Oye, pay attention, chica," Vaas sang, snapping his fingers quickly in Alexander's face. "Listen, hermana. Aye, what was I saying? Ah, I will give you a choice since…since I can't fucking think." He wanted to say that he had a raging hangover, but didn't want her to know of his weakness. He'd gotten so shitfaced last night that he could barely remember finally jacking off to their little home movie; he'd lasted so long -almost a week after they'd recorded it - before caving to his baser self. Massaging his temples with his freshly bandaged knuckles, he continued. "You want to shower like one of the herd down by the waterfall while I stand guard or shower in my private shower? It's a lot fucking closer. The waterfall's what we usually do, but I'm not feeling the hike today what with…our time crunch. The shower's a small fucking room, but we can both probably fit."

"I don't understand. Why do you have to be there? And I thought you said there weren't any showers here."

She had that dazed look again, with unfocused eyes like she hadn't been given enough food that morning. The way she blinked was too slow, and the way she tilted her head implied true oblivion. He would have to up her caloric intake a bit.

"Questions, hermana, I'm telling you: you're going to get in trouble with a mouth like that. Keep it up and I'm going to have to gag you with something." Lifting his hand from his eyes, he gave her a cheeky grin. "I got to be in there because there's a goddamn  _window_ and I can't have you escaping. My faith is a little strained after the other day's little stunt. I've put in too much time to have you running away. You'd get eaten by some piece of shit animal - or person - before I'd find you."

The danger of being shut in a small, steamy room with the naked girl barely flitted through his mind – he was still too fucked up to be thinking straight; getting the shit over with was first on the agenda. Hoyt would be arriving within the hour and he did not want to haul her up to the pit and back on a time crunch. Attention flitting back to the present, his focus turned to his cargo; her eyes were sweet that morning, as though the other day had never happened. She too was suffering from some sort of hangover, some mental black-out. Her blood-matted hair, cracked lips, oozing, scabby shins and gore-splattered face spoke to the fact that her body and mind were both weary. He saw the hesitation in her answer; his dog wanted to please him and that soothed his throbbing mind, but the pause had been so long that he hardly remembered what he'd asked her.

"I'll use the shower, boss. Don't want to nuisance you."

Her eyes smiled for a moment and he wanted to breathe a sigh of relief; she was so beautiful, such a precious little creature. But his respite was short-lived.

"Bueno," he muttered, distracted by a sudden thought; Hoyt did not like it when Vaas became attached to the merchandise. The motherfucker  _resented_ Vaas being attached to  _anything_. " _What in the fuck will that cunt do to my puppy?"_ he thought, watching her pack a bag with toiletries for bathing. " _He won't touch her. I haven't fucked her. She's just a play thing. He won't care as long as I haven't fucked her,"_ he tried to reassure himself. Even with her shit all torn up, he thought she was nicer to watch than the fresh, new meat. She went to snatch a tank top and he grabbed her hand. Irritation and panic raced through his veins at the terror on her face.

"No; the other top," he commanded, referring to an ugly graphic t-shirt.

* * *

With only a small amount of hesitation, she complied with his request, shoving the shirt into her bag before turning back to the imposing creature. Internally, she wondered what purpose it would serve since she'd already been displayed to every man in the camp wearing nothing but her grimy black bra and panties, but something like that wouldn't matter to a man like Vaas. Connected to her owner only by a trust that she didn't want to be shot, they departed her little cell for the bath house. He'd even taken her collar off so she could scrub at her neck.

"Most of the boys around here don't use the building," Vaas explained as they drew closer, "because they get clean enough dragging shit out of the ocean or swimming inland. Fucking stupid if you ask me, what with all those alligators, sharks, fucking tigers…but it's their ass, not mine, so this has become my personal luxury retreat."

The snicker in his tone led her to believe it was anything but. Upon their approach, from the outside, it appeared very similar to every other building in the compound. However, the inside was a different matter; the wash hut was visually abrasive: the tiles were orange and black with buildup; the shower head looked rusted shut like it hadn't been used in years; and the room itself was cracked, disused, dirty and small. There were five other doors off of the hall, each leading to their own shower or tub. This, it seemed, was the only one still working.

With Vaas unabashedly staring her down, she stripped to nothing, turned the water on, and heard him breathe in brusquely. The trickle was cold for a good two minutes before any hot water made it through the groaning system and, waiting for the water, starting at her toes, she noticed she really had lost some weight, but it was surprisingly not a grotesque amount. It was the first moment she'd taken to observe herself. With some shadow of her modesty, she faced away from her master to lather up, but as soon as she did she heard the tell-tale jingle of his belt slipping off.

With a feeling analogous to vomiting, she paged through what she could have done wrong and could find no single action that had merited punishment. Paralyzed at the prospect of pain, she could not reconcile whether it would be a whip or a noose. The soap, forgotten, rinsed off of her body in great, foamy rivers leaving patches of shiny skin juxtaposed with the moist grime caked on the rest of her. Like magic, he was in the shower too. Fighting down the choking sensation bubbling up in her throat, she wished him to be there with kind intentions, but could not bring herself to believe it. With great force, as she was trying to quell her fluttering stomach, he wrapped his powerful arms around her and pulled her painfully close to him. Whiskers grating against her skin, leathery skin rubbing up on her, Alexander felt her body being pinned to the filthy shower tile. Shock stopped her from speaking, but she did attempt to pull away with negligible effort. He snorted.

"Do not fight, chica," he trilled, seeming to read her mind. "I have been fighting my loins long enough. God knows it's harder to fight  _your_  corazón." The Spanish flicked off the tip of his tongue against her ear.

"But," the word seemed to tumble accidentally from her mouth. Her cheek pressed up against the wall of the shower made her speech muffled. "You made Nestor and I…on Friday you wouldn't even consider-"

Bandaged finger coming up to shush her, he laughed with the bite of a barking dog. One hand trailed up her wet form and wove into a tendril of her hair. The other pulled her hips back into his groin – a groin, she noted, that was completely unclothed. Heat began to creep into her cheeks as his erection brushed her sensitive buttocks and her hands spread out on the slimy enamel to prop her up.

"I was not even  _close_  to this fucked up on Friday,"

The menace in Vaas's voice choked her; it was the heartless tone he'd used before she'd been his little pet project. Squeezing her thighs, he let out a sound so deep in his chest that it reverberated to her core. It wasn't a coo or an amused sound, but something so hungry she feared for her safety. Letting out air in a tiny sigh, she bit her tongue to keep from crying as he clenched into her flesh unsympathetically, his cracked and bloody fingers sinking deep and forming bruises along her legs. A whine rose up in her throat, all but drowned out by the gushing hot water. Acting as though she was eager for more pushed him, and his teeth came down on her neck, hard enough for her to gasp in surprise, hurt, and some amount of twisted satisfaction. Her stomach turned while she felt a wave of pleasure roll through her, her nails biting into her palms while his teeth bit into her raw neck again and again. Sensing her reluctant excitement, the native pulled back and began drawing his fingers along her most sensitive flesh, sliding along her entrance and dipping into her arousal with his obscene extremities. He drew her back from the shower and turned her.

She whimpered – embarrassed by the fact that she was excited – and felt him throb between her thighs, his cock brushing against her ever warmer flesh. One hand reached around spanked her raw bottom with a  _smack_ and she moaned, her bottom stinging, but her distressed desire mounting. She could feel his cock shudder each time she reacted with a sound, precum dripping from his head and burning down her thighs.

"Do you want me to punish you some more?" he muttered into her ear, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint, and then squeezing it with wicked force, even as it was still stinging from the impact. The tears should have been streaming; they were not.

"Vaas - " she began to cry out, but he shoved his fingers into her mouth and gagged her.

"Suck," he breathed into her hair, pressing her back up against the shower wall.

Too conditioned to disobey, she did as she was told. Shaking, she reached around and pulled on his hair in a vain attempt to have him let up. But his two hands came under her arms to keep her propped up, and his teeth came down on her neck again, this time with enough force to draw blood and she cried out.

"Vaas! It – that  _hurts_."

Her voice trembling seemed to set him ablaze. He thrust two fingers inside of her, twirling them around in her hot cum, pulling from her even more arousal, letting it drip down her thighs and mix with the water and his pre-ejaculate. One of his hands came up around her neck and tightened, constricting her windpipe. She began to feel light headed, could feel her hands clawing at him, but as his fingers pulsed in and out of her, she forced her arms around his neck, hoping to get more air. Mercy! Sweet air filled her lungs as he took his hand away, flipped her face down, and bent her over so that she had to throw her hands against the floor to keep from smacking into it, though her knees still hit the tiles as his jagged nails tore down her back in great, gorey streaks. She could feel his cock trace along her anticipation, trailing his head along her entrance. Her heavy breathing and trembling form were pushing him past the point of no return.

"Do you want me?" he asked. "Would you like to be fucked by your god?"

"Yes," she said, tears slipping down the drain with all the filth and water.

With great relish, he rammed himself in, impaling her in a very real sense. She screamed in agony and almost fell, but he grabbed her by her waist and began pumping into her with no restraint. The girl's hot convulsions of pain caused him to stiffen and push deeper. Her body was so tight, he would have thought she was still a virgin if he hadn't known otherwise firsthand.

She was screaming his name at the top of her voice, begging him to ease up, and making him ache for more; he wanted to hear her scream louder. His dick was larger than anything that had ever been inside her and she was fighting through the punishment, hoping it would open up and become pleasurable. The pain  _was_ abating, now just a steady throbbing, and she could feel his powerful thighs trying to please them both at every lunge.

Suddenly, he pulled her up to her feet and spun her around, slamming her bleeding back into the wall once more, but higher now. He lifted her legs around his hips and nailed her against the shower tile. She wouldn't look at him, still ashamed, and so he grabbed her by her chin and forced her to. His eyes, so brilliantly green, pierced hers through her curtain of hair. He smiled, snake like, and came forward to kiss her. She made a half-hearted attempt to turn away, but his grip on her was too strong. His burning tongue slid around hers and darted into the back of her throat, pulling up yet another moan. There was still the healing flavor of blood, still. Alexander's arms came together around his neck to hold her up and he rammed into her, over and over, growling, weaving Spanish spells into her ear. Her lubricant made it so easy for him to impale her, fucking her as hard as he could. Neither of them could remember ever being so fully pleasured before. His tongue traced a hot trail from her mouth down to the other side of her neck and he began to suck, hard. She felt it bruising, but could only scream out in delight as he pounded her faster and faster, hot water raining down on them both.

He pulled her out of the shower and threw her on the ground of the bathroom. Forceful hands connected around her neck and she found she was once more a pet. He knelt behind her and grabbed the back of her collar. Cock dripping with her cum, he eased himself into her once more. She yelped again, but began rocking with his thrusts. As he came closer to coming, he pulled back on her collar, choking her. She clawed at her throat, trying to get air, but could do nothing to stop him in his lust-filled rampage. With one final slap to her stinging ass cheek, he came inside her, burning semen mixing with her lubricant and blood.

Letting their sex drip down her legs, he held himself inside her until he caught his breath, and then slid out, dripping jizz on the floor. He stood up and pulled his pants back on.

"Rinse that shit off and get dressed. We have our meeting with Hoyt…and that cunt is going to cut my balls off for this. Fuck! And you thought Friday was a close call…" he muttered, mostly to himself. Leaning against the mirror with his hands laced above his eyes, he quieted.

She sighed heavily as she stood up, shaking, and reentered the shower. She didn't bother with soap, just rinsed the sex off. The blood would not stop flowing, though. Even so, she got out and slipped her new clothes on; there were no towels with which to dry off. Vaas had seemed very pleased with her performance, despite the matter with Hoyt, and she couldn't help but feel a little satisfied too – even if she wasn't completely sure it had been consensual. Rubbing at her sore neck, following Vaas out of the shower room, she didn't notice there were rivers flowing from her eyes.


	6. Hoyt

 

Stumbling out of the bath house, they were initially blinded by the onslaught of light. Cursing and muttering against the sun, her master found the car waiting for them, Hoyt inside. Whether it had been Vaas or a subordinate that had told Hoyt where to find them, she never did find out.

It was a nicer car than the typical Rook Island ATV looking POS; it very well could have been a band new, sleek, black Hummer limo. The rear passenger door opened and a hand emerged from a billowing cloud of smoke to beckon them inside. Vaas, far too fucked up by whatever concoction he'd taken that morning, grunted a greeting at Hoyt before sliding in. Hoyt greeted Vaas as cordially as could be expected and then pulled Alexander across the back seat and onto his lap where they sat facing Vaas. The car began to putt along and Vaas began to tense; Alex was beginning to have an idea why, and unnoticed tears continued to ball at the corners of her eyes in large, great orbs. She was otherwise stoic.

"Why the fuck is she crying? What's all this shit with her neck and her knees, Vaas? You can't go messing up the packaging," Hoyt purred. He was turning her head left and right with his fingers, cigar perched in the crook between his index and middle, examining the bruises and bite marks. He blew some smoke into her face and she coughed lightly. One finger smeared the blood around the lacerations made by Vaas's teeth. "Used goods don't bring in as much…and with the time, and other things, you've been putting into this one…"

He pulled her legs apart and she looked up at Vaas. The tears had dried up and the look pleaded with him to save her. His stare was apathetic, but a little flicker of malice danced behind his eyes; Hoyt wanted to tweak him and he  _had_ been tweaked. Vaas shook his head ever so slightly – no he would not help her. Or could not. With one finger, Hoyt slid himself up her shorts and into her panties. She hissed at his cold, unpleasant skin.

"You just  _can't_  be having rough sex with the expensive ones, Vaas; I told you, didn't I? I told you not to have sex with this  _particular_  special product because  _this_  happens," Hoyt said, examining the blood and semen dripping down his fingers. "I fucking tell the  _newbies_ that."

He cupped her jaw and opened her mouth, smearing viscous fluid on her cheek, and then pulled her in for a kiss. His tongue slid across every surface in her mouth, even dipping into the back of her throat, nearly causing her to gag, and leaving a sour and smoky taste before pulling away. Vaas looked ready to murder, but his arms stayed tightly crossed, muscles bulging ever so slightly more than usual.

"There's even blood in her mouth."

He licked a spot of the red off of her lip, holding her in position as she writhed beneath his touch, turning Alex to face her master.

"Really, Vaas? With this much damage…and she's hardly behaved…not trained at all…do I have to take her away?"

The teasing in his voice but showed how much fun he was having; he used irate words, but he was not actually upset. Hoyt simply knew how to provoke his employee, volatile as he tended to be.

"No, Hoyt. I'll be more careful," the native snarled through clenched teeth. "I always take good care of your things,  _Hoyt_."

"Well, that's why I like you, Vaas. I'm going to take her in for a checkup and then I'll return her to you. Just need to make sure that she doesn't have HIV or anything…although we can't be entirely sure  _now_ , can we?"

He eyed Vaas, challenged him, as he brought his hand down and slid it between her thighs. Alex eyed the bobbing cigar and falling ash apprehensively while Vaas growled in his chest and looked out the window. Alexander made to close her legs, but Hoyt held them open with surprising force. His voice was suddenly edged in something dangerous, no longer playfully prodding along his pupil. The car jolted as they boarded a ferry to get from Vaas's island to the main island and hot ash singed her thigh. She yelped.

"Darling, I need you to understand something. While you might feel  _Vaas_  is your master, you are poorly misled; I am. He's just your…teacher, your…" he twirled his cigar in a thoughtful manner. "…your trainer. So if you want to be returned in working order to your  _amour_  over there," he pointed his cigar at Vaas, "then you'd better cut the shit and behave like a good little whore."

His South African accent dripped like tar and she had to fight from recoiling. But she did not recoil. And she did not fight his advances. Content, Hoyt allowed them silence. But it was with the same intent a bed of spikes lies still.

A portion of the day later, they finally arrived at Hoyt's temporary place of residence. Time had passed mysteriously because of the tension and it felt like they'd been driving for hours. Then again, they could have been; Alex had not paid much mind to the placement of the sun before their drive and her internal clock had been thrown upon her arrival on the island.

Cordial to a fault, Hoyt invited Vaas to stay the night so that he, Hoyt, could return Alexander to him as soon as he was done. He did not want to deprive his favorite general of his little bonbon overnight; the thought was despicable. With much frustration, the intoxicated slaver accepted, storming like a trapped tiger to his cage.

The repulsive separation anxiety that blossomed in her chest hurt Alex more than she cared to acknowledge. Who was there to protect her now?

Hoyt took her away, put her in a room that was more a bedroom than a doctor's office, and locked her in. It was a house, but there was evidence it was often abandoned and not up kept; vines creeped up the walls, even inside, and the roof was in disrepair. The doctor was disdainful, and clearly unused to working with slaves or natives, refusing to address her questions or to even look her in the eye. After taking various liquids and measurements from her body, he left her and gave her back to the Big Bossman.

Hoyt showed her the way out, to a building much newer looking than the house; wooden walls had been thrown up and painted white, the roof made of a sturdy material much nicer than the leaf-thatched and tin rooves she was accustomed to. He pulled her into his room, one of two, and she knew Vaas lay just one wall away. The two bedrooms, Vaas's and Hoyt's, were adjacent to each other through the shared main wall. She could hear Vaas on the radio in the other quarters and she wished, sickly, to be trapped with him instead; he was a downright romantic compared to this South African prick. Hoyt hadn't as much as spoken to her since they'd been with Vaas; he was certainly too good to socialize with the merchandise. While she flicked her eyes around the room, only barely registering the lavish digs, and he settled in, he finally decided to speak again.

"So, Alex, right? You fuck Vaas often? A quickie here, a blowjob there?"

"Is that a real question? Do you want me to answer or is it only meant to degrade?" she asked, a little of her sass shining through despite her training. She was facing the wall, leaning in to try and hear Vaas better, and turned when he did not answer immediately. Hoyt was smiling, but not in a nice way. He wanted to hurt her, to hurt Vaas if he could.

"If you want to return home to your pimp, then yes, you should answer my fucking question. He really has trained you poorly thus far."

"Today was the first."

"Did you cum?"

"I don't think that's relevant."

"Come on,  _chica_ , I don't mean any harm." His tone and clenched fists betrayed him.

When she did not respond, he paced toward her and continued. "I am not a stupid man, Alexander. I run a global enterprise, you see, and you can rarely be stupid  _and_ successful. I know what's going on in that diseased mind of Vaas's, and I know that you're interrupting my business as usual. Distractions are not good for my profits."

She stared at him with no emotion and this piqued him. He reached out to clench her shoulder, his other hand limply in his pocket.

"Silence," he intoned through his teeth, "will not go unpunished".

He was fast, that Hoyt. Without enough warning, he'd sunk a syringe into her bicep. The sensation of falling enveloped her and Hoyt swam in and out of focus. Suddenly she was floating at the bottom of the ocean, staring up at the swimming sun. Hoyt's voice echoed in her ears as a bed materialized around her, similarly sunk at the bottom.

"This is great stuff. The Rakyat savages are fucked up to be sure, but they've got some incredible drugs."

Alex felt a negative feeling wash over her as she floated, naked, in the water. She yelled Vaas's name, but nothing came out. The island landscape had begun to materialize around her. A storm was brewing overhead.

"I hope you don't mind," Hoyt continued, "if I pleasure myself while we wait for those test results."

She felt him fill her, but she could not see him. Pain shot through her pelvis, but it was easy to distract herself. Indeed, her hands might have been tied to the bedpost, but nothing was very clear. Trees were popping up in her field of vision, winds were whipping her hair around, and Nester had appeared with a laptop next to her on the bed. Hoyt grunted in her ear, like strange music from faraway speakers, and she felt him biting her neck.

"It's not your fault, Alex," Nester mumbled, still typing, rain falling suddenly. "Hoyt's even more fucked than Vaas if you can believe it."

She felt her body being used, but couldn't move except to look at her would-be friend.

"What are you working on?"

"A new program that's easier for these simple folk to use. Anything more advanced than point and click and I lose them."

The hallucination continued for a while as she talked to Nestor about where they were and what the drug was doing. At a point after the rocking stopped, she felt something choke her, and then her mouth was actually filling with water. Nestor shrugged apologetically and slammed his laptop shut. She gulped some of the water down before sputtering and coughing. The bedroom came back into focus with sharp relief. Her lungs were hacking and her eyes were watering with the strain of coming back to reality.

It was very late. She had no natural sense of time, as she had realized earlier, but the darkness had come, and the moon was on the rise, and the night creatures were chatting. Vaas's alternating mumbles and yelling from beyond the divider had ceased; this often did not happen until very late indeed. Hoyt was reclining next to her on the bed, another foul cigar lit, and an empty glass in his free hand.

"I pulled you back, did I?" His grin was slimy. "Would you like another trip?"

"No," she managed, sending herself into another coughing fit.

"We've got to tell Vaas to slow down on the starvation; you're going to have sagging skin if we don't pace ourselves." He gripped a handful of her pudge. "And that simply won't do for the buyers. Not. One. Bit." He pinched her and she winced. "I suppose you're wondering about the doctor."

The doctor had come back with the basic tests, but some would take a few days to get back. In the meantime, he was going to return her to Vaas with refreshed instructions and blatant consequences. Vaas was awoken, pissy and full of vinegar, and fully informed of what had occurred in Hoyt's room while Alex stared at his red tank with unseeing eyes. They were both informed the Bossman had forced "the whore" to swallow a hormone pill to prevent pregnancy due to Vaas's recklessness. Once the men had finished discussing their business, Hoyt departed for his room and the girl was left standing alone in the doorway's beam of light.

"Well, hermana, I am very disappointed in you."

She said nothing.

"Come inside."

Alex responded to the command, but still did not want to see what was happening behind those emerald eyes. His tone was straight, but that hardly meant his mood wasn't already turning.

"I thought the T-Shirt was enough, chica, because that Fuck loves collar bones, but he did it anyway. That son-of-a-bitch fucked you just to mess with me."

The words tumbled from his lips like they were racing to catch up with him. He prodded a finger into the side of his temple as through Hoyt had drilled a hole there, then crossed his arms, walked a bit, and turned back toward her.

"I can't believe he fucked you."

"I called out to you. But he'd already drugged me."

"We'll deal with that later," he said, rubbing his eyes.

Her silence seemed to cause him discomfort – he fell down onto the bed and ran his hands wildly through his hair. Then, he withdrew a bottle from his pant pocket, and a syringe from the other. She noticed his room was more sparsely furnished, with just a chair and side table to accompany the bed. There was no fur rug, no dresser, and no minibar as there had been in Hoyt's. Of course not. Vaas was not being rewarded; he was being taught a lesson and having his leash pulled taught.

"Do not be upset; I am not angry, mi ciela. We will figure out something." Vaas patted the bed next to him. "I am going to give you a little treat that I normally only reserve for myself. And no, mi perra, this is not a choice."

She sat next to him and glanced curiously at the man lying there. To keep him docile, Hoyt must have given him refills on some particular recreational supplies for he did not seem bothered much by their situation. He filled the needle up about halfway, and this looked to Alex like an awful lot for a first time user.

"I'm giving you enough to pass out and have a nice dream conmigo. In the morning, we can go back and figure out what the fuck to do next." He sat up to look her in the eye, bleary and bloodshot the both of them. "Nighty night."

A little prick, hot liquid burning her veins, and then falling next to Vaas. She felt him kiss her, caress her bottom lip with his tongue, and then heard him shoot up. He was being merciful to take away thought. Nothing followed this wavelength; darkness swathed her in warmth and she did not dream until noon the next day.


	7. Punishment

It so happened that Vaas _was_ angry – angry, but not necessarily at _her._ She had no recollection of their drive back to base, and she woke up in her nest of filthy, torn clothes as though they hadn’t primped for and had a meeting with Hoyt at all. Except for the unpleasant aching in her loins, the previous day might never have happened. The image of Vaas, naked and pressing into her, flit before her eyes and she felt pain in her head like a hangover of regret.

She kept expecting him to come to beat her, to punish her for letting Hoyt fuck her, but he never did – at least not in that overt way she had come to associate with him. In fact, in the following days, she only saw him in passing, and he did not stop once to speak with her. Nestor had taken up giving her rations, but their forced interlude had left him distant, and he did not speak with her either, though she tried every time she saw him. The isolation pressed on until she felt she may burst. She thought about running so they’d shoot her, torture her, so she could feel again. But that would displease him even more. And she wanted none of that.

That Tuesday began with a shrill whistle rousing her, Vaas hovering over her with her old leash in his extra-bloody mitt. Where the blood had come from – whether it was his or not – these she did not consider. Nestor – and breakfast – were nowhere to be found. He saw her eyes flit to the door and to her empty tray. She wrapped her hands around her stomach and frowned up at him as it let out a grumble.

“Oye, chica, you’re _hungry_ , eah? _Starving?_ What will mi _perra_ do for food?”

The words were like knives after the prolonged silence; sharp and unexpected. But Vaas wasn’t someone you could expect to read. Her body shivered as she relished in his attention, then shivered again in disgust at herself. She looked into his fury and reached up for his belt, but he swatted her advance away and crouched down beside her. His eyes sought connection to hers as he brushed her hair behind her ear and bit his lip against an urge that she could not pinpoint. Fire raged behind that emerald gaze, but what sort of fire?

 “Would you sit naked in front of mis hermanos and let them feed you? Let them touch you and pet you and _feed_ you?”

Silent, knowing he was not in the mood for quips or retorts, she nodded. Was this then the long awaited punishment?

“Ah! A show first thing in the morning! The boys will be so very, very happy.”

Her protector was not there to make her feel better after the isolation, she knew that; he was there to hurt her. So when he did not look at her the whole way to he mess hall, did not look at her when he ordered her to strip, she knew it was just the beginning. He only watched to make sure none of them injured her or slipped a hand too far south, but otherwise let them fondle her bare breasts, stroke his pet, his _plaything,_ in exchange for scraps of food. Oh, how they relished it, knowing she was usually off limits!

One of his men was leaning down to smell her hair as he rolled her nipple between his fingers, when Vaas looked over. As he took it all in, their eyes met. Her heart felt heavy when she found no jealousy in his gaze – only exhaustion and annoyance. The disgust blossomed red hot in her stomach.

After he was finished eating, he led her back to the hut and gave her new clothes – tattered, but clean. He still did not look at her, only upon her.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

She couldn’t help it. She knew the answer, but still she had to know. He tensed.

“I do not like looking at failure,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t have you here so close to me; it makes me sick.”

Again against her better judgement, she asked him: “Where will I go?”

Instead of answering, Vaas clicked his tongue and Abroon the boatsman sauntered in, eyes a little too lively to be reassuring.

“She is to be isolated to her own cage. And use the metal cuffs.”

With no other instructions to give, her god left her in the hands of the boatsman. She spent three days and two nights agonizing in the lagoon prison. By day, the unrelenting sun beat down on her in waves of blistering heat. Men passed by, perusing the wares. Some helped themselves, fucking the men, women, and children right in the cages. Others took their rewards away with them, brought them back tousled and bruised, but never battered. Sometimes these men came at night. Once, a man tried to choose her, but the pirate on duty reminded his comrade that she was off limits and she escaped rape by the grace – or fear - of Vaas’s insanity.

She watched the others herded about for clients, for photos, to be washed en masse. She watched Ema and Anni shoot her unsure, curious glances as they were led off to be paraded before some big buyer with the other stick-thin merchandise. But even if she could, she wouldn’t have had answers for them. Why was she set apart? Were there really no buyers interested in her body? Her flesh? Had Vaas truly been so upset by Hoyt tainting her that he could no longer stand to look at her?

By day, the sounds of the others was quieter, the heat sapping them of the energy. Water lapped at the boat’s sides, lulling them into coma-like stupors. Water was supplied regularly, food given to them in the evening. It was the only routine they could expect.

By night, the moaning and crying of the other slaves was unending. To punctuate the sound, beasts in the darkness howled at the great, twinkling sky. Occasional gunfire could be heard from the island. Worst of all, she never felt like she could fall fully asleep for fear someone would come and try to take what was Vaas’s alone.

* * *

He really, _really_ hated hurting her on someone else’s orders. It was one thing to hurt her when she was disobedient; another when he felt like it because he was bored – or high. Those things _satisfied_ him so.

But hurting her so that Hoyt would leave him alone, leave _them_ alone? It really ate at him. Doing _anything_ that pleased Hoyt pissed him off more than just a little. He missed running his hands across her, making her moan, making her want him; _that_ he absolutely could not do – not in the situation she’d put them in. Now, she had to believe that he hated her. Had to make her believe so _Hoyt_ would believe. He didn’t trust himself around her, though, and hoped a few nights on the lagoon would sort her out.

However, when she returned, he still saw the glimmer in her eye – that longing for him that transcended the fear and the revulsion and the pain. He wanted to fuck her brains out when she looked at him like that, but he pushed it down, scoffed at her longing, and she looked away. Perhaps enough had gone out of her that Hoyt would believe she was broken.

The South African prick arrived for the checkup and Vaas tried his damnedest to be as high as possible so he wouldn’t be able to read him. He shot up right before showing Hoyt to Alexander, back in her nest of filthy clothes. After making sure his boss had seen her, he tried to leave, but Hoyt stopped him.

“I think you should monitor your little project, Vaas. You never know what I might do to her if you leave.” His tone was threatening.

Vaas sneered and rolled his eyes against a bigger outburst, but leaned back against one wall of the shed and watched. Hoyt went in for a few checks, feeling to see if she was filled with cum and forcing her mouth open to look for new bite marks. She passed the physical inspection, at least, and the two men went back to Hoyt’s car.

“You feel better now?” Vaas asked, spitting onto the ground and noting with distaste the flavor of blood.

Hoyt stood, the door in his hand, face stoic. “She’s still in love with you, Vaas.” The accent was thick now – a good indicator that he was finished playing games. “You told me you’d take care of it.”

The native clenched his teeth and said nothing. An outburst now would do nothing except have her taken away, meant he would lose. He did not like to lose.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night, Vaas. Fix this or I’m taking her on as my own personal pet project…since you clearly aren’t capable of doing this on your own.”

* * *

Alexander had to pass her final trial. She didn’t know exactly why, but based on the way her owner was acting, she could only guess it wasn’t good; he was agitated and more abusive than usual. That alone didn’t mean anything, but combined with the way he shot her unsettling looks she’d never seen before, manic, or the way he lashed out at every underling to approach him, maiming one – these were red flags.

She was to feed the pigs. Sure, the demand had seemed odd to her, but it was not the most unusual thing Vaas had asked of her. She had heard the pigs around the compound, she had smelt the pigs, but she could not remember ever seeing the pigs. 

“These are the direct descendants of wild boars,” Vaas snickered. But there was no humor behind his words; they rang hollow like an unimpressive act. “They’re quite feisty. I thought you might get along.” She nodded her acknowledgement and followed him along the row. “I love our boars. They are so tasty. And you are going to learn the secret for why our little piggies are so damn delicious here on my little island.”

The grin was sharp and tinged in something manic and so she ventured a quick smile back. His face went blank, and she glanced toward the pen they were approaching. The squealing and the snorting made her uneasy for some reason, but she continued to follow Vaas to a shed nearby.

Worse than the corrugated shed she’d been living in, a dilapidated handful of planks was holding up a tin roof that was so weathered, it was more rust than metal. From within the shed came the buzzing of a swarm, and she saw the pale, bloated hand of a dead body caught between the door and the jamb. A rusty saw hung from a rung on the wall.

 “Vaas-” she started, but he shushed her.

“Mis cerdos love, _love,_ that blood in the air. They’ll tear through the bodies in a few minutes, maybe less. It’s easy, yes?”

“I’ll do whatever you wish, boss.”

His eyes glinted.

“I know.” He whistled shrilly and she jumped, startled. Two men came from the far side of the shed, holding Ema and Anni. “But it isn’t maybe as easy as feeding slop to Babe, huh?”

Her eyes locked with the girls’ and they were, not for the first time, looking to her to save them from themselves. Vaas handed her a knife which she took without much thought.

“Boss, you’re not going to give her a gun?”

“Did I ask for your fucking input, hermano? No, we aren’t going to give her a gun! It will scare my pigs!” He did not consider that his screaming might be having the same effect. Then, attention directed back to her. “You slit them from ear to ear, right along their neck. Press hard or they will bleed out slowly and painfully…although that’s fun too; to hell with it, dealer’s choice!”

She stood there, hand shaking, as the men kicked the girls down to their knees.

“Vaas, can’t you-“

Vaas began to tut and she quieted. The look in his eyes she had seen only once before; clear, murderous intent. He got behind her and took her hand in his, pushing the knife into position. She writhed against his grip and he held her harder, hard enough to grind the bones in her fingers together, suddenly terrifying in his strength and control of her body.

“You will do this or I will feed _you_ to the pigs.”

Alex felt hot tears on her face, from both the pain and the sudden, overwhelming fear of Vaas; he’d never sounded more serious. She mouthed that she was sorry, closed her eyes, and slid the knife as fast as she could across Anni’s throat. The blonde gargled once and fell across Ema’s lap, spraying blood all over her. Ema’s eyes bulged as she tried to scream, but her gag muffled all but a vibrating sound from her throat. The pigs were suddenly earsplittingly excited, and ravenous for blood.

“Now the other one, Alex,” Vaas whispered in her ear, turning her toward Ema. The other girl had streaks of tears down her cheeks, cutting through the dirt and the grime and the blood, and wishing to reach Alex. Alexander shook her head, tried to push backward, wanted nothing more than to sob and sleep off the nightmare, but Vaas held her upright and shouted rapid Spanish to his grunts. “Then this is what happens when you cannot follow instructions, hermana.”

To her horror, she watched as Vaas had both girls thrown into the pen. Ema’s gag was wrenched free in the motion and Vaas held Alexander there, forcing her to watch, as both girls were torn apart. The haunting screaming ground into her skull like a drill, replaced only when Ema’s throat was ripped out, replaced by the slurping, squealing hell. His hand traveled up and down her arm, feeling the gooseflesh that broke out. When Vaas knew she was no longer seeing what was before her, he ordered the men to take her back to her shed. He stayed back with his pigs to make sure they didn’t hurt each other in the frenzy, then went to see his pet.

She was buried in her nest when he arrived back. He kicked her awake and squatted down next to her. Alexander sat up, but couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. When he whipped out with a hand, still coated with Anni’s blood, to grab her chin, she whimpered and flinched. Her eyes met with his reluctantly and immediately glazed over. He dropped  her and went to fetch Hoyt.

Hoyt had no further concerns after that night.


End file.
